Best Laid Plans Sometimes Fail
by baseballfan44
Summary: It's Don and Robin's wedding day, but things never go according to plan. Especially when it comes to Don Eppes. Some Don-whump.
1. Chapter 1

Hello fellow Numb3rs fans! I hope some of you are still out there. Here is my first attempt at a story with any type of actual action at all. This one's been such a long time coming. I came up with the idea for it like 2 years ago. And I even started it and then the file disappeared off my computer (this was on an old computer, back before all the auto-save niceness). And then I started it again and then and got halfway done and then my hard drive crashed last May and I lost it again. Then I gave up because I thought this was doomed. But then after I finished my last story, I decided to give it one last shot. So I spent like 3 or 4 months on it, and here it is! It's like 15 chapters, and it is completely finished.

I don't own anything Numb3rs related. This is for personal enjoyment.

Hope you all enjoy, this is much different from what I usually write. Please review! I love to hear feedback.

**Best Laid Plans Sometimes Fail**

Chapter 1

Saturday, October 8, 2011  
3:27 p.m.

If he was late, Robin would probably never forgive him. He was already on such a tight schedule as it was; if he was as late to the airport as it appeared he would be, things would have to be delayed. That would not be good. Robin was already stressed out enough as it was.

Heavy rain all throughout L.A. County had caused a lot of plane delays, and Robin's parents and sister had been due to arrive yesterday. They hadn't, obviously, but thankfully all other out of town guests had made it before the storm got too bad. But that had only been the first blow dealt to this wedding.

Don and Robin had planned a ceremony that was much like their relationship—small and simple but still incredibly romantic. Charlie and Amita had graciously loaned out their backyard for the ceremony. A nice little outdoor ceremony would have been so wonderful, but of course, the storm had ruined such plans. They'd made the quick decision last night to move both ceremony and reception somewhere inside. That had been its own series of headaches—trying to find a new venue at such a last minute and then making the arrangements to move everything there. Eventually, with some strings pulled by Charlie, they had the ceremony and reception set up in some ballroom in the upstairs of CalSci's student union building.

At this point, Don and Robin—especially Robin—were a little on edge and clearly were ready for the whole thing to just _take place_ already. Unfortunately, unless traffic cleared on this freeway and Alan could get to the airport at the speed of sound, it looked like he and Robin's family would never get there on time. The wedding was still an hour and a half away, but traffic was making the drive from Pasadena to the airport take twice as long as it normally should have. And he hadn't even arrived at the airport yet. At least at this rate he wouldn't have to wait for their plane to land—they would be the ones waiting for _him._

Well, Alan supposed he should call Don and tell him what was going on. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and the speed dial for his son's number.

It only rang twice before Don answered with his usual gruff "Eppes."

"Donnie, it's Dad," Alan greeted. "I just thought I should call and let someone know that traffic out here is terrible. I'm going to be lucky if I can get us all to CalSci on time." He stopped there, bracing himself for his son's reaction.

"Aw, Dad, you can't be late to my wedding!" Don practically whined. Then he sighed. "Sorry. I know it's not your fault. We'll just have to delay it however long it takes."

"I'm sorry, son," Alan apologized. "We'll get there as soon as we can. It'll be fine."

"I know." Alan could hear his son's soft chuckle in the background. "I'm not upset, really. But I just feel like Robin might be. She's kind of been freaking out about this wedding all of a sudden."

"Why do you think I called you instead of her?" Alan joked. "No, Donnie, she'll be fine. I'm going under the assumption that you two will only have one wedding in your lifetime, and she just wants it to be perfect. And it still will be perfect. It'll just be perfect at 5:30 instead of at 5. You'll see. In fact, I give you permission to use my logic when you tell her."

"Gee, thanks Dad," came Don's sarcastic reply. "I know, she's fine. She's just antsy. I guess I'm a little antsy, too. It's okay."

"So, I imagine Charlie will be at your place soon?" Alan inquired. "You know, to drive you out to CalSci?"

"Uh, no. I'm actually just going to drive myself. Me and Charlie decided that would be easier with the rain, you know, since my apartment is not at all on the way between the house and CalSci."

"That's probably a good idea," Alan agreed. "Less driving any of us have to do today, the better. I'll see you there, all right?"

"Yeah, Dad. Just keep me posted, okay?"

"Sure thing, Don," Alan agreed. "I'll call you later."

"Thanks, Dad." And with that, Don had disconnected the call.

Alan dropped his phone into the cup holder next to him. _Boy_. The rain was still coming down hard. At least the wind from earlier seemed to have died down. The rain seemed to be falling straight down instead of at the weird, twisted angle of earlier. Now it was actually possible to use the windshield wipers to actually clear the windshield.

Well, at least he had his trusty ol' Beatles album in the CD player of his car. That would help pass the time until he could wade his way past this ridiculous traffic, get to the airport, and somehow fight his way back to Pasadena.

4:01 p.m.

He wore a lot of suits to work, but Don couldn't even remember the last time he'd dressed up in something as fancy as this tuxedo. It made him feel almost like a small child being forced to wear nice clothes, and then being told to remain on his best behavior. _Don't get the suit dirty._

Oh well, he wasn't going to deny that he looked pretty good. He fiddled with his bowtie, watching himself in his bathroom mirror. He glanced down at his watch, almost so fast that he didn't actually see the time. But he caught it, just barely, noting that it was about 4:00. His wedding was scheduled to begin in an hour. He should probably get there on time, despite his dad's worries that he and Don's future in-laws would be late.

Robin had actually taken that piece of information better than he'd thought she would. She'd pointed out that there was a lot to the reception that still needed to be set up, since they'd had to move that out of Charlie's backyard as well. She would recruit Amita and Charlie, she said, and they'd use the extra time to make the reception turn out perfectly. Don, satisfied with her plan, had hung up with Robin and resumed preparing himself.

He put on his dress shoes quickly before slipping a piece of gum into his mouth. One last quick check in the mirror told him nothing looked strange or out-of-place. Don glanced at his face, gnashing his gum in his teeth.

"This is it," he whispered to himself with one last attempt to straighten his already-straight bowtie. He smiled nervously at himself. "Don Eppes is actually getting married." He took a deep breath. After all the years of his life being consumed by the FBI, it felt strange to be doing something as normal as getting married. But he was excited, he really was.

"Better leave now, Don," he quietly scolded himself. "Don't want to be late." He didn't give himself time to think; he stepped quickly away from the mirror, grabbed his keys, and opened his door.

The walk down his short hallway to the elevator was eerily quiet, Don thought. He'd assumed the building would be busier today; with the storm, he thought most people would have stayed in today.

Up ahead, Don spotted his next door neighbor already waiting for the elevator. Adam Lorenzic had moved in to the unit next to Don's a couple of months ago and generally reminded Don of a younger version of himself. Adam was a brilliant young attorney who mostly kept to himself, shying away from personal relationships. One of these days, Don would have to fill the younger man in on how rewarding it could be to end up allowing oneself to forge some real relationships—something Don hadn't learned until maybe a couple of years ago.

For now, he simply muttered "Adam" as a greeting, earning a quiet nod from his neighbor. They waited a few more seconds for the elevator to arrive. The doors slid open, and Don allowed Adam to step in first.

"Nice tux," Adam commented gruffly as the elevator doors closed.

"Thanks." A small smile spread across Don's lips.

Adam, clearly curious, stared for just a few seconds before asking the inevitable and obvious question. "Going to a wedding?"

"Yeah," Don answered, his smile expanding into a full-fledged grin. "My own."

Adam's eyes widened; he was clearly impressed. "To Robin Brooks? I've seen you two around here, and I knew you guys seemed pretty serious, but I didn't realize you were engaged."

Don's eyebrows scrunched for a moment. He didn't recall ever actually introducing Robin to Adam before, so how did he know—?

His thoughts were cut off as Adam clearly read his thoughts. "I, uh, went up against Ms. Brooks in court once, a couple of months ago. I was defending a guy arrested for fraud." He smiled. "She kicked my ass."

Don chuckled, and a sense of pride blossomed within him. "Yeah, she's pretty good. And yeah, we've been engaged for awhile now. Probably too long. But yeah, we're getting married today, finally."

Adam stuck his hand out. "Well, congratulations," he said, and Don shook his outstretched hand, muttering a quick "thank you".

At that time, the elevator came to a halt on the ground floor of the building. The two men stepped out, walking together in silence all the way out to the parking lot before Adam stopped.

"Well, uh, good luck," Adam wished him hesitantly. "And congratulations, again."

"Thank you," Don grinned and took a deep breath. "See you later, Adam."

"See ya," the younger man called back to him as he began to turn the opposite direction towards his car. Don watched him walk away in mild amusement before following suit and heading towards his own SUV.

For some reason, he felt a little bit lighter in that moment. He'd been feeling a bit nervous, he had to admit. What was it they say? Something like . . . the hardest part is just _getting_ married . . . or something. Well, Don knew he wasn't too far away from finally _being_ married. His anxiety was shifting more towards pure excitement.

He unlocked his car, opened the door, and sat inside. He quickly glanced at himself in the rear-view mirror—one last check to make sure he looked okay. Don couldn't help but smile at himself as he put on his Aviator sunglasses. He noted, amused, that he actually kind of resembled an actual "secret agent" type, with his tuxedo and sunglasses. He immediately took the sunglasses off, though, remembering how cloudy and rain-soaked everything was. Nope, Aviators would be silly in this weather.

As he turned the key in the ignition, he felt something cold press into his neck. It was an unmistakable feeling, one Don instantly recognized as the cold, threatening metal of a gun barrel.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Yay, I have readers! That's always a good thing. Thanks to all of you who reviewed for your kind words. Here's the second part. Enjoy, and please review!

Chapter 2

4:10 p.m.

How quickly feelings of excitement could grotesquely mutate into sinking horror was not lost on Don in the moments that followed. The instant he registered the feeling of a gun to his neck, his eyes slid back to the rear-view mirror in a desperate attempt to locate the source of the gun. Finding nothing, Don concluded that his mystery assailant was lurking behind his seat, out of his line of sight.

Tension seemed to slow time down, Don noted as he sat waiting for some reasoning to manifest itself regarding this sudden course of events. What was really only seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as Don waited with his eyes glued to the mirror. Finally, a face emerged from somewhere in the downward direction. Unfortunately, Don couldn't get a good look, because his attacker's face was partially obscured by the shadow cast into the car by the carport, as well as neighboring trees. Through his peripheral vision, Don could make out Adam Lorenzic's car pulling out of the parking lot slightly to his right.

"Afternoon," a voice greeted coldly from behind Don. "Hope I'm not ruining any big plans of yours." Don gritted his teeth at the sarcastic chuckle sounding from his backseat. "Here's how it's going to be, Eppes. You do exactly what I tell you, and I'll leave your brother, your father, and your wife alone."

Don's heart stopped at these words. Clearly, the mystery man in his backseat knew him, and knew who his family was. He stared silently back at the smug man, trying to figure out who he was.

The man was laughing again, a sound that made Don cringe.

"Oh wait, I guess Ms. Brooks isn't your wife yet," the man was saying. "Oh well. Just think of it this way, Agent Eppes. By doing this now, I've saved her from becoming a widow."

Don's heart and stomach dropped for probably the fifth or sixth time in the last minute. He was in some serious trouble, and at this point in time he had no real option but to cooperate with his captor's wishes. He had his gun, but it was under his tuxedo jacket and therefore not easily accessible. Not that it would do him any good with his attacker behind him.

That point became moot anyway when his captor reached a hand to his hip, gingerly pulling the gun out of his holster and back to the backseat. Don sat wordlessly, with his hands on the steering wheel, gun still pressing into his neck.

"What do you want from me?" Don ground out through his still-clenched teeth.

The man behind him snickered. "All I want from you right now is to put this car in gear and drive. Don't try anything, don't signal to anyone out there, just keep your hands on the wheel and drive." He jabbed the gun harder into Don's neck for emphasis—_as if I need any emphasis,_ Don thought bitterly.

With no other viable options, Don pulled the gearshift into reverse and slowly backed out of his space. He kept silent until he reached the parking lot's exit, where he stopped the car briefly.

"Which way?" he asked hesitantly.

"Left," the man behind him growled. "You're going to get on 210."

"All right," Don complied. He turned the wheel to the left, casting a glance off to the right—the direction he would have turned to head to CalSci and his wedding. _I'm so sorry, Robin_. Don only hoped that someone would soon find out what happened to him and that Robin wouldn't think he bolted from his own wedding.

His heart ached as he drove the opposite direction than he should have been, rain splashing relentlessly onto the windshield.

* * *

5:45 p.m.

At what point would it be okay for panic to set in? Was it when your fiancé was running five minutes late to his own wedding? No, Robin remained calm then, figuring with their families' promise of a late arrival, Don's slight tardiness was understandable. Ten minutes? Weather-related traffic issues could certainly be slowing things down, so a few deep breaths kept Robin calm once more.

After fifteen minutes, the churning in Robin's gut began to rise. Surely any man with any amount of common sense would use his cell phone and _call_ someone when he was fifteen minutes late to _his own goddamn wedding._

Twenty-five minutes after the wedding was supposed to start came and Don was the only one unaccounted for. His father was there, along with her parents and her sister, straight from the airport. Charlie and Amita were there. All the guests were there. There weren't many—just a few close relatives on each side as well as some of their closer work colleagues—but they were all there. Larry, who was officiating, was there.

Don was the only one missing then.

He would have a crap-ton of missed calls on his cell phone, Robin figured bitterly. There would be calls from her, Charlie, Alan, Colby, Nikki, Liz, and even David who had flown in from DC for the ceremony. Unfortunately, Robin's asshole of a fiancé hadn't bothered to answer any of those calls.

Now, forty-five minutes after the wedding's original start time—but fifteen minutes after Alan's earlier promised arrival time—Robin stood alone in the women's restroom on the third floor of the CalSci student union building that had been temporarily transformed into a makeshift dressing room. She glared at herself in the mirror, noting her expertly-curled hair, simple-but-elegant white dress, and perfectly-defined make up.

She was pissed. How could she not be? She was supposed to have been married by now, but instead her fiancé was absolutely nowhere to be found. Everything was ruined. She huffed out a short breath. Don was making her into a statistic—forcing her to join the ranks of those who'd been left at the altar. _Her._ Robin Brooks, dumped like a pile of garbage. Where could he _possibly_ be?

The door creaked open. Robin took a deep breath, forcing her emotions back under control. Her sister Rachel poked her head in, silently asking for permission to enter. Robin nodded a little, watching her older sister enter through the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

"Hey," Rachel greeted softly as she carefully swung an arm around Robin's shoulders. "You okay?"

Robin shrugged, not trusting herself to speak.

"If this guy really walked out on you, I'll kill him myself when they find him," Rachel promised, getting a small, watery snort out of Robin.

There was a knock on the wall outside the bathroom.

"Who is it?" Rachel called.

"It's Alan, Charlie, and Liz," came a voice that sounded like Alan's. "Is it okay if we come in there?"

"Sure Alan, come on in," Robin allowed.

The three of them entered the bathroom, each with a similar expression on their faces. A mixture of worry and deep concerned painted all of them. Robin watched silently as the filed in. Alan walked directly to her, immediately pulling her into a warm embrace.

"I'm so sorry," Alan whispered to her. "We've got David and Colby heading over to his apartment. Maybe they can figure out what happened."

"Nikki's calling all the hospitals in the area," Liz informed her. "I hope nothing's happened, but God, with this storm, who even knows."

Robin pulled back from Alan, feeling her stomach drop like a stone. _Oh my God._ She'd been so busy being angry with Don, she hadn't even considered that something could have happened to him beyond his control. _No._ The roads were so wet and slick—Liz was right. Any number of things could have happened. Her mind flashed with all the possible ways and points along the drive from Don's apartment to here that he could have gotten in a serious accident. Her eyes closed as she struggled to maintain composure.

She felt like such an idiot. How could she have just _assumed_ that Don had made a conscious decision not to show up? He could be out there somewhere—wet, cold, and hurt—and here she was, silently accusing him of dumping her on their wedding day. How could she have so readily accepted that the man she loved would actually do that to her?

But wait, was she actually hoping that some terrible fate had befallen her fiancé?

Which was worse? Having the man you intended to marry walk out on you on your wedding day, or having him miss your wedding because he was seriously injured . . . or worse?

Well, the latter was definitely _worse_, but still.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the conversation around her.

"Well, maybe he's just . . . stuck in a huge traffic jam?" Charlie speculated desperately, clearly not believing his own words. "I mean, that's what happened to you, Dad."

"Yes, it is," Alan agreed, "but I picked up my phone and _called_ someone."

"Well, you know, the storm is still going," Charlie supplied weakly. "So maybe there's some problem with a cell tower somewhere. I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure he's on his way."

Robin huffed out a short breath. "Yeah, right. Sure, he's sitting in his car somewhere between here and his apartment, frustrated because he can't get here and it just so happens he can't even _tell_ us he can't get here. Come on, Charlie, that would be some bad luck."

Charlie looked stricken, and Robin regretted the harshness of her tone.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," she apologized softly. "If you're right, that's great. But let's face it. He only lives maybe ten minutes from here. And he's an hour late. I don't think traffic could possibly be _that_ bad."

"All right, all right," Alan cut in. "There's no point in speculating. We'll find him, and we'll know what happened soon." He sighed a deep sigh. Robin noted the strain of worry pulling at his eyes. "I just hope to God he didn't get in an accident or anything."

Everyone was silent for a moment, before Liz shifted towards the door. "I'm going to check in with Nikki and see is she's found anything out," she announced before slipping out the door.

"I don't know what would be worse," Robin quietly confessed. "Don getting in an accident so serious that he can't call to tell us he's not coming, or Don intentionally skipping out on his own wedding." She felt Rachel's hand on her arm, rubbing it soothingly. "Either way, I'm clearly not getting married today."

Charlie's eyes closed and he swallowed, and Alan pulled her into another hug.

"Oh, Robin," he breathed. "You know, as Donnie's father, I have to say. If he did run away from this and is okay somewhere, I can live with it. I mean, I'll be extremely _extremely _angry with him for what he's put us through, but mostly I'll be happy he's okay. I'd almost forgotten that it might not be quite the same for you."

Robin's throat constricted, thinking about what was left unsaid. Either way, it seemed she was losing the man she loved. It all boiled down to one simple thing: If they found Don and he was unharmed and alive, she'd have to kill him.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

I'm so happy there seems to be a lot of interest in this! Thank you again for all your kind words. This next part is a bit short, but oh well, at least I'm good at updating pretty regularly, right? Ha. Hope you like it anyways, and please review!

Chapter 3

6:04 p.m.

A quick run through of the parking lot gave David and Colby one important, preliminary piece of information—Don was not at home. His SUV was missing, nowhere to be found. It didn't tell them much, just that Don had left and had at least attempted to go _somewhere._

Figuring out where was another matter entirely. David figured it probably wouldn't do much good to get out of the car and go up to Don's apartment, but the FBI agent in him said to leave no stone unturned, either. So he told Colby to park the car in a visitor's space, and the two of them stepped out into the rain.

Colby made a face at the way the rain was hitting his face. "Damn, this is nasty."

David cringed, walking quickly towards the building's entrance in attempt to seek shelter. "Yeah, I don't even remember the last time it rained like this here. Been seeing some bigger storms out in DC, but here is kind of strange."

The two were under a ledge now, mostly staying dry. It was difficult, seeing as how the wind had picked up again. David quickly stuck the key Alan had given him into the door lock, allowing them access into the building.

David was glad to enter the building. Thirty seconds outside had him feeling damp all over. He and Colby made their way to the elevator, which opened immediately when Colby pushed the "up" button. They stepped inside, and rode silently up to the fourth floor where Don's unit was.

A nervous, sinking feeling manifested itself in the pit of David's gut as the elevator made its ascent. Going through all the possibilities of where his former boss could be, David knew that a positive outcome was unlikely in this situation. Over two hours had passed since anyone had been in contact with Don. Don was not at all the type to show up late for anything without at least a phone call—not even to a simple dinner at his brother's house. But his own _wedding_, for Christ's sake . . . well, David figured that even an idiot could imagine the only three possibilities. Don was either hurt, dead, or had run away.

None of which were good things. None of which would lead to this day having a happy ending.

Even if Don had been in a minor car accident resulting in a quick trip to the ER, he still would have made sure to call someone. If he'd been injured in any way, it would have to be fairly serious at the very least.

The elevator opened, and David followed as Colby practically ran out and down the short hallway to Don's apartment. Stopping in front of the door, Colby reached a hand up and started knocking, though they both knew perfectly well that no one would answer.

"Are you guys looking for Don Eppes?" a voice came from behind him, startling David nearly out of his own skin. He turned around to find a man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, poking his head out from a neighboring door.

"Yes, we are," David answered, hearing the urgency in his own voice. "Have you seen him at all today?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, I saw him about two hours ago. He's getting married today, he should be at his wedding, but I don't really know where that's at, so—"

"Was he leaving here when you saw him?" Colby cut the younger man off.

"Yeah, we rode down in the elevator together when he was on his way out."

"Did he say anything to indicate where he was going?" David pressed.

Don's neighbor looked confused. "Uh, yeah, I already told you. He was going to his wedding. He was wearing a really nice tuxedo, so I asked him if he was going to a wedding, and he was like 'Yeah, my own,' and he was all excited—so yeah, I'm assuming he was on his way to his wedding." The man spoke the last bit slowly, as if he were explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

David sighed and looked at Colby, whose face said exactly what David was thinking: that they'd ruled out one possibility—Don most likely did not intentionally ditch his own wedding.

"Thanks," Colby muttered. He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Don's neighbor. "If you see or hear from him, please call me."

* * *

6:07 p.m.

Traffic was a mess. Rain seemed to be a magical elixir that caused everyone in Southern California to forget how to drive. _Sheesh_. It wasn't even raining all that hard anymore—it had slowed down to what Don would classify as a heavy drizzle. Sure, the roads were wet and filled with puddles, but really.

Not that Don was all that eager to get to wherever the hell it was he was going. The longer he and his backseat passenger were stuck in traffic, the longer Don had to weigh his options. Unfortunately, he just kept re-realizing over and over that there was really nothing he could do, at least not until they eventually stopped driving. And considering Don had no real idea of their destination, he couldn't come up with a concrete plan of action.

The only good thing about the situation was that since Don was supposed to have been getting married, people should have realized pretty quickly that he was missing. Glancing down at his watch, he figured people would have initially questioned his whereabouts over an hour ago now.

Don Eppes was not a man one would describe as emotional, but he felt like he could seriously cry right now when he thought of his now-ruined wedding. His heart broke into a million pieces every time he thought of Robin, which was about every ten or twenty seconds. _God._ She must hate him.

Where was she, right at that moment? Was she still at CalSci? Had she gone home? What was she thinking? She must think he purposely left her at the altar. Oh, how he desperately wished he could somehow let her know how much he desperately wanted to be there with her, celebrating their new marriage. He wished that she could know for sure just how much he loved her. He wished these things so badly it hurt.

What made things worse was when Don thought of the likelihood of making it out of this alive. Clearly, his captor knew him. And when an FBI agent was kidnapped by someone who knew his identity, things had a tendency not to end well. Don worried that Robin might never know just how much this was tearing him up inside.

As much as the severe traffic was buying Don some time, it also put him a little on edge. An accident in the eastbound lanes of I-10 had them at a near standstill for over half an hour. His captor was clearly agitated as well, although the man hadn't said a word the whole time other than to tell Don when and where to turn. Don had tried to open a dialogue with him, as per protocol, but it had been like talking to a brick wall. That was another thing that did not bode well for Don.

Hopefully someone would figure out what happened, although Don wasn't sure how. There had been no evidence left behind regarding his whereabouts. Surely, someone had put out a bulletin on his car by now, however. Although his captor probably realized this, and they'd likely ditch the SUV soon.

Colby, Nikki, Liz, and even Mr. Head-of-Anti-Corruption-in-DC David Sinclair would be actively leading the search for him by now. It was _possible_ they'd find him—once they'd ruled out the possibility of him running away on purpose or being involved in a serious accident on his way to CalSci.

He tugged absently on his bowtie. _Might as well try this guy again,_ Don figured. _Got nothing else to do right now._

"Look, eventually, you're going to have to tell me why you're doing this," he calmly reasoned. "Might as well be now, right?"

A pair of cold, considering blue eyes met his in the rear-view mirror. "We'll get to that all in good time, Agent Eppes. Until then, you just keep managing this traffic as best you can."

"Okay," Don relented. "But look, hey, you know, maybe there's some way we can settle this quietly. You know - no muss, no fuss.. You're already in it pretty deep here, what with abducting of a federal agent and all, you don't want dig yourself in deeper here."

"Agent Eppes." The man's voice contained a strong note of disbelief. "Why do you feel the need to presume to know what I want?"

"I'm not trying to presume to know anything," Don soothed in his best armed-offender-talk-down voice. "I just want to know what you _do_ want. It would be a lot easier for me to help you if you just told me—"

The man didn't let him finish. "It isn't your help that I want, Agent Eppes. So far I'm already getting what I want from you. Now please, I'd rather not have this conversation here. But I'll leave you with one thought. I must admit, I'm a tad offended that you don't seem to recognize me. If you could, you'd know _exactly_ what it is that I want." And with that, Don's captor leaned back against the seat and fell silent.

Okay, so Don definitely should know this man. It couldn't have been somebody he'd previously arrested; he'd likely remember all his old collars well enough to recognize them. Don could only figure that this man was a victim, the family member of a victim, or the family member of a perpetrator he'd once arrested. It didn't matter so much because no matter which, the motive was mostly likely revenge. Not a good sign.

Unfortunately, Don hadn't garnered any new information that he hadn't already figured on. All he could do was continue to drive the car until eventually the man told him to stop.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Okay, before I go further, I'd like to address a review left by EDuse2, who pointed out that Don's FBI SUV would likely have a tracking device. I did not think of this when I wrote this story. I can't really go in and change this now without having to change a lot of what's there, so I'm going to pretend that Don's SUV does not have a tracking device, but thank you again EDuse2 for setting me straight. If I ever write another story where such a situation arises, I'll be sure to keep this in mind!

So here's the next part. It's the first chapter with any real action in it that I've really ever written, so I hope it makes sense! Without further ado, here it is, and please review!

Chapter 4

6:20 p.m.

At long last, Don's captor finally had him pull off the freeway, right near Ontario. He'd navigated the wet surface streets for two or three minutes before the man had him pull down an alleyway surrounded by some old warehouses. Finally, his captor had him stop the car. Noting the old blue sedan parked off to the side, Don figured they were at last making the inevitable vehicle switch.

Don found himself on the edge of his seat, hoping for an opportunity to outman his captor, but also wary. The man had two guns and Don had nothing.

The other man warned him to stay put as he slid out the driver's side of the backseat. Don turned his head sharply to the left, wanting the keep his eyes focused on his assailant. He watched as the gun was once more pointed in the general direction of his head as the other man carefully shut the rear door. Don remained still, his hands clasped on the steering wheel.

"All right, Agent Eppes," said his captor spoke, loud enough to be heard through the closed doors of the car. "Step outside now, very slowly. I'll open the door—you just keep your hands where I can see them, and don't try anything." He fixed Don with an intense warning stare.

Slowly, the driver door opened. Don didn't even think; he simply reacted. Since the perp had to pull the door open, the door ended up being partially in between him and Don. With the gun pointed at Don, it was extremely risky, but he didn't see any other options. It was now or never. He had his hands held up high, matching his captor's gaze, and with a well-placed hard kick to the door, was off and running.

As soon as Don turned to run, he knew what he'd done was tactically not the best decision ever. He would only make it so far before his assailant would collect himself and start shooting the gun in his direction. And in a small alley with not much cover, he'd be a pretty easy target. If only he could make it to the alleyway's entrance and out of sight of the kidnapper, maybe—just _maybe_—he could find some place to hide. What he'd do after that, he wasn't entirely sure yet. He had not had time to develop his plan that much yet.

Like he predicted, he hadn't made it very far before the first gunshots sounded. _Damn_. He was such an idiot. Where did he think he was going to go? Yes, there was a street past the alley, but there was no guarantee he'd find an adequate spot to hide in the short amount of time before the other man also rounded the corner. And he was also running the risk of putting innocent people in danger—if there _were_ any people out and about in this weather.

Before he could think about it any farther, a rogue gunshot made its way into a trashcan in front of him a ways. It toppled over, falling directly into Don's path. There was no possible way he could react fast enough to avoid the trashcan, he realized with dismay.

Don had learned long ago that time becoming slow motion during dramatic moments was not just some ridiculous cliché. It was actually pretty accurate, and this particular instance was a good example. Time stretched out as Don watched his foot make contact with the trash can. His body was like a falling tree, gradually losing altitude before hitting the ground with a thud. _Timber!_

He lay there, breathing hard. He was laying mostly in a puddle, soaking through his tuxedo and instantly chilling him to the bone. Instinct told him to stay put. There was no way he'd be able to scramble to his feet in time to outrun his captor. Sure enough, less than two seconds passed before the other man came into his field of vision, gun pointed at his face.

"Agent Eppes," the other man spat viciously. "That was an _incredibly_ stupid move on your part. It is lucky for you that I had hoped to make this a slow process, or else I would simply end this right now. But my brother deserves better than that. He deserves real vindication. He deserves to have you suffer because of what you did to him!"

A revenge thing, absolutely for sure. This wasn't good, Don knew. He cautioned a glance up towards his captor.

"Who is your brother?" Don asked quietly.

The gunman gave him a strange look, almost as if he were amused that Don would be asking such a question. "Okay. I guess maybe now is as good a time as any to lay my cards on the table. My brother was a man who fell down the wrong path. It's a shame, he was brilliant. He thought about going to law school, but instead he got involved with some—well, some _very_ odd people. We weren't rich; my brother couldn't pay his way through school. He made a lot of money dealing drugs, he really did. I'm not proud of where life led my brother, but he didn't deserve to be killed."

Don held back a flinch as the gun was jabbed closer to his face.

"He didn't deserve to be hunted down by a bunch of bloodthirsty Feds and killed by your gun, Agent Eppes. Do you even remember my brother? His name was Patrick Shore."

Patrick Shore. Yes, Don remembered Patrick Shore, but he was hardly as innocent as this brother made him out to be. Patrick Shore was pretty dirty—one of those types who'd proverbially shoot first and ask questions later. He wasn't the top dog, he'd been a thug for a pretty low-level drug dealer named Enrico Javero. The case was nearly ten years ago, in Albuquerque. Shore had murdered an undercover agent, bringing down the wrath of Don's entire office. A couple weeks of investigation later, they'd planned a raid on a warehouse known to be one of Javero's operating locations. To make a long story short, Patrick Shore had fired off a few shots in the direction of the FBI team and gotten a chest full of Don's bullets for his trouble.

He remembered Patrick having a younger brother—what was his name though? He was pretty sure it started with an "R". Randy? Rick? Ron? Either way, this was strange, because Patrick Shore's brother didn't have a record of any kind—at least he didn't ten years ago.

"I remember him," Don confirmed. "If your brother was so intelligent, what was he doing thugging for a bottom-of-the-barrel drug dealer?"

That comment earned him a glare. "Like I said, not one of Patrick's better decisions. But he didn't deserve to die, and yet you killed him anyway."

"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened with your brother," said Don sincerely.

"Oh, _now_ you're sorry," Shore spat. "Well, isn't that a surprise. There's a gun in your face and now you're _sorry_. Shocker. Get up." He indicated upwards with the gun.

Don slowly crawled to his feet, suddenly aware of the scrapes on his hands and the nice hole in the elbow of his tuxedo jacket. And boy, was he wet. He stood, hands raised. He faced Shore, fixing the other man with a challenging gaze.

"Let's go back to where the cars are parked," Shore said almost casually. "We really need to get moving."

Well, if nothing else, Don's failed escape attempt had accomplished one thing. He knew who had abducted him and why. Unfortunately, it wasn't _him_ who needed to know this information, it was the FBI agents who were hopefully looking for him by now.

Shore led Don back past his SUV to where the old blue sedan was parked. Once they were standing behind the small car, Shore grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Well, of course, I can't let that stupid little stunt of yours go completely unpunished." Shore smirked. "Say goodnight, Agent Eppes."

Before Don knew it, the gun was being raised above Shore's head. Don reached his hands up reflexively in attempt to block the impending blow, but unfortunately, Shore had just the right angle to get around him. First, Don was fighting, and then he knew nothing.

* * *

6:42 p.m.

On the first floor of the CalSci student union, Alan sat with Charlie and Amita at a table. There weren't many other people around—a few students here and there socializing at other tables, some people working in the coffee shop across the way, and Robin's parents a few tables away. No one at the Eppes' table or the Brooks' table said a word.

They'd sent the wedding guests away about forty-five minutes ago. Only the immediate families plus Nikki and Liz remained. Soon after, some important but inconclusive information had surfaced.

David had called, his voice urgent, and told them that a neighbor had confirmed Don's intent to be at the wedding. He'd been wearing his tuxedo, talking excitedly to the neighbor about the wedding, so there was little to no doubt that—unless Don suddenly had some kind of quick mental breakdown—he had been on his way to the wedding.

Nikki, after a few phone calls, had verified for them that Don was not at a hospital anywhere. Which led Alan to wonder, if Don didn't ditch the wedding, and wasn't at a hospital, and there hadn't been any wrecks between here and his apartment—then where the hell was he? It was as if his oldest son had magically vanished off the face of the earth, and he was understandably wracked with worry.

Looking at the sullenly silent couple across the table from him, Alan knew he wasn't the only one whose gut was churning, thinking of all the possible situations his oldest son could be in. Charlie and Amita both wore similar expressions, each of them staring at nothing somewhere towards the floor.

Don had to be fine. He just had to be. What kind of terrible, cruel twist of fate would this be otherwise? Who the hell went missing on their own wedding day? And why, of all people, did something like this have to happen to _Don_, and to _this_ family? Sometimes, Alan felt like things never went right.

Bottom line, though, was that he couldn't lose his son. He simply couldn't. All he could do was sit here and pray to any god that might be listening for his son to come back.

He watched as his son's almost-wife slowly descended a nearby set of stairs. Her movements were lethargic; each step took seemed to take a few seconds. Alan's heart broke at the forlorn look on Robin's face. A garment bag was slung over her right arm. She'd been in the bathroom upstairs next to the ballroom, changing out of her wedding dress and back into the simple button down shirt and jeans she'd worn earlier in the day. Her hair, still curled, had fallen limp and her makeup was smudged in places.

Alan's heart broke again for the poor woman. She'd been with his son for what felt like forever, and even though they hadn't gotten married yet, she was definitely a part of their family.

The question now was, would Robin ever share the Eppes name?

Robin's sister had appeared at the top of the stairs and had started coming down, her movements much more brisk and urgent than Robin's. The sound of Rachel's heels clacking on the steps attracted the attention of Charlie, Amita, and Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. The five of them stood up simultaneously as the Brooks sisters reached the ground floor.

Alan rushed to Robin, hoping to reach her before her parents closed ranks around her like he assumed they would. He pulled her into a quick hug. "I'm so sorry again, Robin. I can't really believe this is happening. I feel terrible."

"Oh Alan," Robin sniffed. "You shouldn't feel bad. This isn't your fault."

Alan pulled back, leaving his hands on her shoulders, and looked her square in the eye. "Robin, I just want you to know, that no matter what happens with Donnie, I'll always consider you to be a part of this family."

Robin's eyes welled with tears, and she nodded. "Thanks, Alan."

They stepped apart, and Robin's mother stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Alan, wanting to offer the Brooks family some privacy, steered Charlie and Amita off towards the side.

"I just don't understand what could've happened," Charlie whispered. "It's like he just—_vanished._ There's no evidence of him anywhere. I mean, if there'd been an accident, certainly we'd know by now. Especially with David and Colby out there searching."

"I don't know, Charlie," Alan answered, defeated. "I don't get it either."

"I'm such an idiot," Charlie continued. "I should have just gone and picked him up like we'd planned. Screw the storm, if I'd have just taken the time to drive over to his apartment, none of this would have happened."

"Charlie, you can't go there," Amita spoke up. "You can't say nothing would have happened. We don't know what happened to him yet, so we don't know that you picking him up would have stopped it. If you'd gone to pick him up, who knows? Maybe you'd be missing, too."

It was just so frustrating, Alan thought with despair. If only they knew even one thing about what had happened to his son. People didn't just vanish into thin air, Don had to be _somewhere_.

He could see Nikki and Liz making their way towards them from the opposite end of the building, and Alan sighed. He could feel the now-familiar wave of panic rising up within him, but he shoved it down. His son had an exceptional team of FBI agents looking for him. They'd find him.

They had to, because Alan was _not_ losing his son today.

Alan, Charlie, Amita, plus Robin and her family all turned towards the two female agents as they approached. Alan searched their faces; there was nothing there to give him any hints to his son's whereabouts.

Liz took a deep breath before speaking. "Okay. We don't know anything yet. David and Colby just know that Don is definitely nowhere between here and his apartment. We put a BOLO out on his SUV about a half hour ago. His cell phone is turned off, so we can't use the GPS chip inside to track it. Since we just—we don't know anything right now, there's not a whole lot else we can do at this moment. But we'll find him. We will. We won't stop looking."

Everyone nodded grimly, and Alan whispered a quick thanks.

Liz hesitated before continuing. "Um, Charlie, Amita . . . maybe you guys want to come to the FBI office with me and Nikki. Maybe there's something you guys could do."

"I don't see what." The look on Charlie's face was pitiful. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Alan might have found Charlie's puppy dog face amusing. "You just said it yourself. You don't know anything. There's nothing. What am I supposed to do with nothing?"

Nikki looked hard at Charlie. "Maybe nothing, Charlie. But you two should really come with us, because maybe there's _something._"

Alan studied Nikki's face for a moment. She was clearly trying to tell Charlie something without saying it explicitly. But Alan was pretty sure he read her loud and clear. She and Liz were probably thinking that someone was behind this, that someone was responsible for Don's disappearance. _That_ was something. That was something Charlie might be able to mathematically analyze.

He understood why they didn't want to explain that out loud. Robin's family wouldn't be very familiar with some of the horrors of Don's job. They wouldn't be as familiar with the possible explanations of why an FBI agent could suddenly and mysteriously vanish into thin air. Although surely the Brooks weren't stupid—they'd likely consider that possibility on their own. It would just be all the more upsetting to hear it aloud before it was necessary. That Alan knew from experience. Personally, _he_ didn't want to hear that possibility spoken aloud just yet.

Alan gave Nikki and Liz a knowing look, and poked his youngest son forward. "Come on, Charlie. You need to do anything you can to help right now, okay? We all need to everything we can if there's even the smallest possibility it could help find your brother, okay? Please, go with them." He looked to Amita for help.

Thankfully, his daughter-in-law took the hint. "Come on, Charlie, your dad's right. You never know. We could think of something."

Alan smiled gratefully at her, before turning to Robin and her family. "And you are all welcome to come back to the house with me and wait until we hear something, if you'd like."

"Oh Mr. Eppes, we don't want to put you out," said Robin's mother, whose name Alan couldn't quite recall.

"Please, it's Alan," he insisted. "And really, you won't be putting me out. You'll be keeping me company. Please."

"Sure Alan," Robin responded on behalf of her family. "We'd love to come. You shouldn't be alone." She offered him a small smile, which he returned as warmly as he could.

Right then, Alan was pretty thankful for his daughters-in-law, if nothing else. One had taken over the job of keeping his youngest son's head clear, and had done so with relative ease. Amita could read Charlie better than he could—maybe even better than his late wife could. His other daughter-in-law—well, in all but name, anyways—was fighting through her own debilitating worry and fear to reach out and try to ease his. And he was grateful, because he really did not want to be alone while Charlie and Amita went off to the FBI offices. Alan really couldn't be prouder of his sons for picking out such terrific women. It had been worth the long wait.

Alan's throat constricted as he silently begged whoever was listening to please let his oldest son come home safe and sound, and please let him enjoy a long and wonderful life with Robin Brooks.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

And we're back for round 5. Hope you all enjoy. I'm pretty sure I actually managed to reply to all signed reviews this last time around (shocker), so for those of you anonymous people, thanks so very much for the encouragement! I hope to hear feedback from all of you again. Goodness, I sound like a broken record sometimes.

Chapter 5

10:33 p.m.

Something about the air seemed extra still tonight. Maybe it was because it had stopped raining at long last. The clear, quiet atmosphere was a stark contrast to the loud, pelting rain of earlier. All that could be heard when the car first parked was the occasional splash of another vehicle traveling down the rain-soaked side streets of Ontario.

A sense of hope bubbled up inside David as he stepped out of Colby's sedan. The call came in to Colby's cell phone about fifteen minutes prior—the Ontario Police Department had located Don's SUV parked in an alleyway beyond a row of warehouses. Finally. Don had been missing for over five hours and this was the first good lead they had.

At the alleyway's entrance, David and Colby flashed their FBI badges to a silent officer guarding the scene. Wordlessly, Colby lifted up the yellow crime scene tape and allowed David to step through first.

Up ahead stood the familiar form of Don's SUV. It was the same car he'd had for years. David couldn't count the amount of times he'd ridden in that exact vehicle, on their way to crime scenes and raids and sometimes just over to a nearby bar for a drink with the team after work. It looked so innocuous, parked where it was. Never could one tell that this particular car was actually parked where no one would have expected.

David and Colby were approached by the officer in charge of the scene. The man stuck his hand out, which David quickly shook.

"I'm Officer Harvey Gerrick," the uniformed officer introduced himself.

"Special Agent David Sinclair and this is Special Agent Colby Granger."

Gerrick seemed to sense that David just wanted to get down to business. The officer would know that one of their own had gone missing, and time was of the essence.

"Well, obviously, we found the car you've been looking for." Gerrick gestured towards the SUV. "It was sitting here just like this when we found it, driver's side door open and all. But that's not all we found here. We found a string of shell casings that start from right under the driver's side door and trail down the alley for a few yards, and then they stopped."

"Shell casings?" Colby asked incredulously. He wandered over to the other side of Don's SUV, towards the driver door and found the aforementioned shell casings trailing on the ground. "There's four of them here."

"All right, so if the gun was fully loaded, then whoever the shooter is didn't stop because he was out of ammo," David speculated. He came around to have a look at the shell casings himself. "He was probably running while he was firing, probably in that direction." He pointed towards the alleyway entrance.

"Right," Gerrick agreed. "We found one of the rounds inside an empty trashcan that had been laying out in the alley. Probably had been shot and knocked over."

"You bag it?" David asked. In response, Gerrick held up an evidence bag with the round he'd been referring to.

"Okay, so our shooter had to be shooting at _someone_," Colby pointed out. David heard what Colby didn't say - that the likely scenario was that someone was shooting at _Don._

"Well, whoever his target was, he didn't hit them," Gerrick supplied. "There's no blood anywhere."

"So what the hell happened here?" David asked. He rubbed a hand over his forehead. This was frustrating. He just couldn't quite put all the pieces together here to get a coherent picture of what had happened.

"There's one other thing," Gerrick announced. "We've got some prints from inside the vehicle. They might just belong to your agent, but you know, maybe they don't."

"Right," David said, absently. He didn't feel like focusing on the fingerprints at that point. If they yielded some interesting results, great, but at this moment they didn't tell him anything new. He left Gerrick and Colby, wandering down the alley to where the trashcan still lay on its side.

"All right," he called back to Colby and Gerrick. "Well, going under the assumption that someone grabbed Don, maybe Don gets out of the car and tries to make a run for it somehow. The kidnapper shoots at him, but misses. He hits the trashcan, which falls out into the alley."

"Don doesn't have time to stop, so he trips over the trashcan," Colby added.

"Right," David agreed. "And the kidnapper doesn't really want to kill him, at least not yet. So he sticks the gun in Don's face and brings him back over to where he has another car stashed and they drive off."

"I wonder if there are any security cameras around here," Colby wondered.

"I'll go check on that," Gerrick offered. David nodded a thanks to the officer.

"Now we just have to figure out who the hell grabbed Don," David summarized. "And where they are now."

Finally, a real, solid lead on why Don had mysteriously vanished. A small modicum of excitement allowed itself to blossom within David. They were getting somewhere.

* * *

10:33 p.m.

Despite what movies and TV said, it was _never_ normal for an FBI agent to be abducted and thrown into the trunk of a car. And trunks were not the optimal place in a car to ride. The fiery aches in Don's joints would testify to that.

Don had no clue where they were, just that they must have gone on one hell of a windy road to get there. The shifts in his equilibrium as he lay cramped in the dark trunk, after he'd regained consciousness from the blow to his head, had left him completely disoriented.

He also knew, now that he'd been released from said trunk, that he was in a forest somewhere. A difficult glance around toward his watch told him it had also taken them nearly two hours to get there. Although, accounting for the wet roads, they might not have actually driven as far as it felt.

There was also a small house, wherever they were, which Don knew for sure because he was now _inside_ the house. More precisely, he was in the basement. Back in the trunk, Don had discovered that his hands had been cuffed behind his back. Eventually, when the car had finally stopped moving, Shore had come around and let him out of the trunk, grabbing his handcuffed wrists and steering him into the house. It was a small, plain house, but Don didn't see much of it before being shoved down a dark, narrow flight of stairs to a basement.

His hands had been uncuffed, pulled around a support pole behind him, and recuffed. He sat down, his hands now stuck behind him. Shore left, and Don was now alone in the cold, dark basement.

Okay. Although he'd been alone and in the quiet while stuffed in the trunk, the tight, cramped atmosphere was not conducive to any real thinking. Not to mention he had a splitting headache radiating out from where the butt of Shore's gun had struck him. But now for the first time, Don was in a position to seriously reflect on his current situation.

Shore was holding him in at least a somewhat remote location, stuffing him down into a basement and cuffing him to a pole. It'd be impossible to escape from his current position, obviously, so somehow he'd have to overpower his captor the very first chance he got. It wasn't realistic to count on a rescue at this point. If he had no idea where he was, then how the hell would his team find him? He supposed Charlie could have some sort of magical algorithm that would pinpoint his location, but he couldn't count on that either. Charlie never performed his best work under the stress of a loved one in danger.

Obviously Shore had taken him out of revenge. And clearly, he intended to kill Don and he intended to make it slow and painful—otherwise he would have just shot Don back in the alleyway and disposed of the evidence.

Don shifted; his arms were cramping painfully in the awkward position they were stuck in. They were already a little sore from being pinned underneath his body while in the trunk, and now they'd been cuffed behind him and around a decent-sized pole for the last couple hours. He craned his neck around and shifted his hands as best he could to get a look at his watch. Yep, he'd been down in the basement for just over two hours.

He needed to come up with a good, solid escape plan. Attempting to overpower Shore back in the alleyway had ultimately not been the greatest idea, but maybe there was a more effective way to accomplish that particular goal.

He'd have to somehow get Shore to uncuff his hands long enough for him to take advantage. To Don, Shore didn't seem like a hardened criminal so much as an aggrieved brother who'd let his anger fester for a decade. After ten long years, he'd let his rage push him to the tipping point—and he'd finally taken action against the man he'd felt responsible for his brother's death. Don figured Shore probably had never committed a felony in his life until today. The man was bound to make a mistake somehow.

But on the other hand, Shore also seemed really smart. The only stupid mistake he'd made so far was letting himself get kicked with a car door—but even then he'd recovered quickly and regained control. But he'd been hesitant. Back when they were driving around in the valley in Don's SUV, Shore had refused to tell him anything about why he'd been abducted. There was really no logical reason for that that Don could see. It seemed like Shore had just been exerting needless power over him for the hell of it—just to show that he was in control of the situation. To Don, it had seemed almost desperate.

_But how to exploit that?_ Don wondered. How could he use Shore's inexperience to his advantage?

He'd have to catch his captor making another stupid mistake born from lack of knowledge.

Don had an idea. It was rough and seemed kind of silly, but maybe it would work.

* * *

10:33 p.m.

Unfortunately, Charlie was all too aware of how dysfunctional he was in situations like this. He knew all too well how much his mind would tend to just shut down, as if someone had hit a giant "off" switch in his brain. As Don had told him last time a loved one was kidnapped, the stress would hit too close to home and he couldn't see straight.

As was the case now, clearly. After he'd arrived at the FBI office a few hours ago with Amita, Nikki, and Liz, Amita had come up with the idea of running a Bayesian filter on some of Don's old cases—much like Charlie had done when a Federal judge's wife had been murdered a few years before. Unfortunately, there were far too many variables and not enough data to narrow anything down. At that point, there'd been no forensic evidence, no established motive, or any information at all, for that matter. There was no way to narrow down the suspects without information with which to build an equation.

It didn't matter to Charlie, though. He was driven to work and rework the equation no matter how sparse the results were. He had to be missing something.

At this moment, Amita was returning to the room War Room, bringing him a cup of coffee. She set it down on the table while Charlie continued scribbling on the board in a frenzy.

"Charlie," Amita said, and Charlie could almost detect amusement in her voice—which, in his current state of mind, was not appreciated. "Charlie, you're writing so fast that I can't even read what you're doing anymore."

He stopped, turning to her and staring at her. He had no idea what she was talking about. He turned back to his board, stepping back and looking closely at it. She was right. His writing was getting a tad sloppy.

"Charlie, I think you need to take a break," Amita continued. "I mean, now would be a perfect time. I don't think you're going to really make this equation work right now. Maybe later, someone will find something and we'll have more to work with. Until then, let's just take a break, maybe clear our heads a little."

No. His wife was not making sense at all. "Take a break?" Charlie asked incredulously, his voice cracking. "How can I take a break? How can I take a break from searching for my own brother? He's out there somewhere and he needs us and who knows what's happening to him and if anyone can find him—"

"You're right. If anyone can find him, it would be you." Amita walked around the table to stand next to him, their shoulders touching. "But obviously, this isn't working. You've lowered the parameters so much that any results you might get aren't really going to mean anything, and I know you know that. So let's just stop, take a break, and then later we'll try to think of something else, okay? But taking a quick break is important, or you're going to wear yourself out and then you really won't be any help to Don."

Charlie sighed, accepting the coffee cup that his wife was holding out to him. He knew she was right. He was going down that path again, and he knew it. Glancing again at his harried, indiscernible scrawl on the clear board next to him, he could see it mathematically. The equations written there were vague, revealing practically nothing—except one thing. They stood out as a clear testament to Charlie's anxiety and fear. These equations weren't the work of a confident, brilliant mathematician. They were the desperate hopes of a man worrying about a loved one.

How many times had he been in this situation? More times than he could count, and he was supposed to be a math genius. It had started with his mother, he supposed, and a few months spent in the garage with the infamously unsolvable P vs. NP. Then again with Don, less than a year later, the loss of his mother still fresh in his mind. He'd retreated into the same problem again, unable to cope with the prospect of loss again—especially when he'd felt that it was his fault Don had been put in danger and had nearly had his head shot off by those bank robbers. Then Don had been stabbed a few years later, and Amita had been kidnapped only a few short weeks after that. He hadn't handled that well, either, and he knew it. And now? When would life stop threatening to take the ones he loved? Maybe then he'd stop having these types of mental breakdowns.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Here's part 6. Enjoy, and keep that lovely feedback coming!

Chapter 6

Sunday, October 9, 2011  
12:01 a.m.

After a fitful sleep, Robin woke up feeling even more tired than before. The day's events and emotions had left her exhausted, and she'd all but collapsed on her mother's shoulder as they sat together on the sofa at the Eppes house. She hadn't quite fallen deeply asleep enough to have actual dreams, but rather her mind had conjured up some strange random images, mostly of Don and what could be happening to him.

She couldn't believe this could be happening. To Don, of all people. Hadn't he been through enough? He'd been stabbed and had nearly died; surely that was enough trauma to last a life time. But it had only been two years since that had happened. And selfishly she wondered, what about her? Hadn't _she_ been through enough? She'd already done this once before—this terrible waiting game that kept her stomach in knots, waiting for some news, _any_ news, on the well-being of the man she loved. _Been there, done that._

Her mother had an arm around her shoulders as she sat silently with her head resting on the back of the couch. She looked over at her sister, passed out in the chair beside the couch. Her father was in the other chair, eyes glued to the television.

Where was Alan? He was nowhere in sight. She wanted to find him. At the moment, he was the only one who understood. He was her only lifeline to Don right now.

She leaned forward, peering into the dining room. No Alan.

"Where did Alan go?" she asked her parents.

"Oh, I don't know," her mother answered too casually, fueling a short burst of frustration in Robin. "I think he might have gone upstairs to change."

There was something in her mother's voice that made Robin angry. She was too relaxed about this . . . but there was something else—she seemed almost smug.

"Okay, just say it," Robin challenged. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her father slowly turn his head towards them, listening closely. "Just say what you've probably wanted to say all day. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I should have found someone else, someone who's life was less likely to be in danger all the time, someone who has a safer job—then maybe this wouldn't have happened and I wouldn't have to go through this."

Her mother's face softened considerably. "Oh, Robin. I can't honestly tell you that the thought hadn't crossed my mind, but it's only because I hate to see you hurting like this. But I understand, I really do. Don's the one you love. Unfortunately I haven't gotten the chance to meet him yet, with everything that's happened, but from everything you've told me about him I know he's a wonderful person. I know he makes you so happy. And I know that he sounds like exactly the type of man I'd want for you."

Honestly, that was not at all what Robin was expecting her mother to say. She'd been ready for a fight. It was so cliché, but Robin's parents had made comments to her—some subtle, some less so—throughout her time with Don about how much nicer it would be if Don had a job with better hours, or one that wasn't so dangerous. She knew they secretly didn't really approve of her relationship with Don, and she figured what had happened today would have shown them a perfect of example of why they'd been right. She thought they'd be very subtly rubbing it in—not directly, no. That wasn't their way.

Instead, all she was hearing in her mother's voice was genuine compassion and sympathy. Her eyes welled with tears; slowly she turned her watery gaze towards her father.

He reached out, grabbing one of her hands in his. "Sweetheart, you've picked a good man for yourself. Now personally, I don't care who the guy is, I'd find something wrong with him no matter what. None of these guys are good enough for you."

Robin laughed a watery laugh. "Dad, you're such a typical dad."

Her father smiled. "I know. And I don't care. But the point is, your mother's right. Don _does_ make you happy, and that counts for everything. I'm so sorry for what's happening, and it makes us sick to see you in this much pain. But if you love him enough that he's worth this kind of torment, then we have nothing negative to say about it."

"I do love him enough," Robin answered with a swallow. "If he were to walk through that door right now with some good reason why he wasn't there today, I'd first punch him in the face and then I'd marry him."

"Black eye and all, huh?" came Rachel's sleepy voice. "Those would be some good wedding pictures."

Robin laughed in spite of herself. Leave it to her sister to always come up with some witty remark and make her laugh even when she was at her lowest point.

Heavy footsteps stomped slowly down the stairs, and Alan eventually materialized into view.

"Alan, hey." Robin was relieved to see him. The conversation she'd just had with her parents made her feel better but Alan was still the only one who could really understand what she was going through right then.

Alan smiled warmly at her. "I was thinking about making some coffee," he announced. "If any of you would like some, I can make a lot."

Only Rachel declined, and Robin remembered her sister didn't drink coffee. Everyone else accepted, and Robin rose to her feet.

"Let me help you, Alan." She grabbed his arm and led him gently into the kitchen.

Once in the brighter light of the kitchen, Robin took a moment to carefully study Alan. His eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and his shoulders seemed more hunched than usual. He suddenly looked many years older.

Before Alan would even have a chance to realize what was happening, Robin pulled him into a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, returning it.

"Oh, Alan," she breathed. "He has to be okay, he just has to be."

"He will be," Alan answered. "I don't know what's happened to him, but he will be. He's got a whole team out there trying to find him, and they're making progress. They found his car. They're getting closer. He'll be okay, and they'll bring him home, and you two will get married."

She pulled apart and looked at him. She came into the kitchen with him to reassure him - well, at least that had been the plan once she'd discovered how fraught he looked - and practically before she began to say anything, he was reassuring her. How did he do that? It was his own son that was missing, and he was so calm.

It was something Don would do, she painfully realized. Alan staying calm and pushing back his own emotions in order to comfort her was exactly like Don. It must be in the genes. When Don did things like that, it sometimes really frustrated her. But here, with Alan, she really appreciated it. She swallowed hard.

"Of course, you're right," she agreed half-heartedly. "Don will be fine." She reached out a hand and rubbed Alan's arm. She looked at him in admiration—admiration for this man in front of her who managed to stay calm, cool, and collected in the ultimate stressful situation; admiration for this man who kept coming depressingly close to losing his own son; admiration for this man who was already like another father to her.

Alan smiled at her sadly and reached over to plug in the coffee maker. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

12:39 a.m.

"Hey, David!" a female voice called. David looked up to see Nikki practically running out of the elevator, waving a file. "David! Lab came back with the prints in Don's car." She skidded to a halt in front of her own desk, which David had unofficially commandeered for the evening.

He looked at her in eager anticipation.

Nikki threw the file down on the desk, open to face them.

"There were some prints in the backseat," she announced triumphantly. "Lab ran them through, and guess what? They belong to a security guard at UCLA Medical Center."

"What?" David interrupted, confused. "What would a hospital security guard want with Don?"

Nikki shrugged. "I don't know. His name's Ralph Shore. No criminal history."

"Well, there's got to be something," David said. "An honest security guard doesn't just up and decide to kidnap a federal agent for no reason. Let's check this guy out."

"What guy?" Charlie emerged suddenly from the War Room, dragging Amita behind him.

"Take a look," David handed the distraught genius the file. "This guy's fingerprints were all over the backseat of Don's SUV. Name's Ralph Shore. You know him?"

Charlie shook his head, not looking up from the file he was quickly scanning.

Nikki popped back up from the cubicle across the aisle. "Got it." They all looked at her expectantly. "Dude's got a brother who was into some pretty heavy drug dealin'. Or I should say he _had_ a brother. Patrick Shore. Guy pulled out a gun during an FBI raid ten years ago in Albuquerque, then he took three rounds into the chest."

David's stomach flopped. "Let me guess . . ."

"Yep. Agent who pulled the trigger was Don."

_Damn._ Don was in some serious trouble. "So this guy's been holding a grudge for a decade now, and suddenly he wants revenge on the guy who killed his brother."

He noticed that Charlie looked weak beside him. David steered the younger man down to the chair at Nikki's desk.

"David," came a small, frightened whisper. "I've worked with the FBI long enough to know what this means. This guy's going to kill Don, isn't he? What are the chances he's even still alive?"

Words could not express how much David did not want to answer Charlie's question. Most revenge killings happened quickly. Don's car had been abandoned hours ago. Who knew where they went afterwards? Most likely, they were already wherever they were going. And most likely, Shore had already gone through and completed the deed.

The chances of Don being alive right now were discouragingly low, but that couldn't stop them.

"Charlie, we just have to do whatever we can do," David answered evasively. "Now tell me, is there any way you can use some of this information to tell us maybe where they went, or—you know, what about that escape radius thing you've done?"

Charlie sighed, standing up. "I don't know, David. I don't know if it can even be applied here. It's just—I mean . . ." he trailed off. He quickly glanced around the room before walking off towards the break room, leaving David standing there to stare concernedly after him.

David looked over to see Amita and Nikki watching Charlie with similar expressions.

"Amita," David said softly. He waited until she turned to look at him before continuing. "Do you think there's anything that can be done here?"

She thought for a moment before answering. "I don't know. We really still don't have a lot of data, but this is a lot more to work with than what we had before, so we could definitely try to figure something out. Charlie's right, an escape radius probably wouldn't work here, but we can probably think of something. I'll give Larry a call, maybe he can help."

"Okay," David agreed. "I'd really appreciate that, Amita. Charlie doesn't ever seem to have his head screwed on all the way in these situations."

"There's just been too many of them, you know?" Her lips thinned into a sad smile. David nodded at her, and she left to go follow Charlie.

David flopped down into the chair, resting his head in his hands. Amita was right. Bad things had happened way too many times around here. But all the stories had happy endings, although the chances of one here weren't good. There was no reason for Ralph Shore to be keeping Don alive unless he was on some strange, sadistic power trip. David knew deep in his heart that his former boss was most likely dead.

And of course, it didn't help that Shore had been acting fairly unpredictably. He'd been playing everything pretty smart so far - and yet he'd made such an obvious mistake by leaving his fingerprints in Don's SUV. Why had he made such an amateur mistake? It reminded David of some old saying among law enforcement officers about how it was easier for them to catch pros than amateurs.

He raised his head slightly to find Nikki staring at him silently. He ignored her, looking around the familiar office. Today was the first time he'd set foot in here in about a year and a half. It still looked exactly as he remembered it. He realized, with a pang of sadness, that if the situation weren't so dire he would feel maybe a little excited about being in this office. It still felt like his home turf, even after running his own team in a different office for eighteen months.

The people who worked here had been his best friends, and still were. David still kept in regular contact with all of his old teammates. They were like a second family to him. And now he was back in Los Angeles and he wasn't leaving until Don, one of his own family members, was found.

He almost laughed bitterly out loud at that thought. The chances of finding Don alive weren't good.

Didn't matter, he told himself. He had a job to do. And this case was a kidnapping case, not a murder case, and would be run as a kidnapping case until hard evidence told them otherwise. Time to get to work.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Here's part 7! I realized as I was writing this chapter that it was the first time I have ever written Larry ever. He's a challenge!

Some spoilers for _Angels and Devils _here. Although, can they really be considered spoilers when the episode aired like three years ago (oh my God, it's been three years since season 5 ended. What.)

Enjoy, and as always, please review! I love feedback!

Chapter 7

4:21 a.m.

Fatigue was catching up to him. He'd been sitting down in the pitch black for so long he thought he might have fallen asleep at some point. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference between his eyes being open and them being closed.

He wouldn't mind getting a little sleep. Chances were, Don would wake up whenever Shore came down. And he couldn't do anything until then anyway, so he figured he might as well get whatever rest he could. Maybe then he wouldn't be completely depleted of energy and unable to put up a fight against Shore and maybe he'd be able to put his already risky plan of action to work.

And maybe sleeping would force Don's mind away from the thoughts he'd been trying so hard not to think. Thoughts about his family. Thoughts about Robin, in particular, and how deeply he'd failed her today.

She had to be so upset with him. He'd completely screwed up their wedding.

It was a struggle to keep turning so awkwardly to keep checking his watch, but it was such a habit for him that he kept doing it anyway. Right now, he figured he'd been missing for about twelve hours. He wondered how much everyone knew about what happened. Had anyone found his car yet? Surely, an alert had gone out and some local cop would have spotted it by now. And with that discovery, surely they'd have figured out he'd been kidnapped by someone.

Did Robin blame him for what happened? He so fervently hoped she wouldn't be angry with him. But why wouldn't she be?

This was hard. The hardness of the whole situation was only compounded by their simple, innocent worries of the day before. This time yesterday, he'd lain awake in his bed, unable to sleep. He'd been worrying about whether all their guests would even make it to the wedding with that crazy rainstorm they'd had. Little did he know that he'd be the only one not to show up. Little did any of them know that the torrential downpour would ultimately not be responsible for his wedding's demise.

_Oh God._ A small bubble of panic welled up in his chest. What if he never got the chance to explain to Robin how deeply sorry he was? What if he died here? They'd never get married, they'd never maybe have kids someday, and they'd never grow old together. She'd be alone.

No, she wouldn't; she'd probably find someone else at some point.

He missed her so much in that moment that he nearly cried out. What he wouldn't give to be where he was supposed to be right now—in the honeymoon suite they'd booked, snuggled in bed with her asleep after a long night of passionate love-making, his arms wrapped around her with her soft, long hair fanned out across the pillow. He could almost feel the softness of the sheets, of the pillows, of Robin. How comfortable it would be to be sleeping in all that softness. As it was, he was stuck in a really awkward sitting position with no softness around anywhere.

"Oh, Robin," he said out loud to the darkness. "I'm so sorry Robin. I'm so sorry this is happening." He could he a quiver in his voice.

Whoa. _Hey. _What the hell was he doing? This was _not_ good. He hadn't even been down here in this basement for more than a few hours. He couldn't possibly let himself do this now. _Come on, Don, you know better._ Where had all the years as a clear-headed FBI agent gone? He gave himself a few mental slaps on the face, forcing himself back to reality.

Can't think about Robin, not now. Have to keep a clear head. If there was any hope of getting out of here, he absolutely had to stay focused. No more of this wallowing in self-pity, he berated himself. Time to man up and start acting more like an FBI agent with training and experience instead of a helpless victim.

He strained around to glance at his watch again. 4:30 a.m.

Maybe Shore was sleeping, Don thought. If so, he probably had a little while longer to wait. He settled in, going over his escape plan, attempting to refine some of the rougher details.

* * *

5:30 a.m.

His hands were shaking. Charlie supposed that's what too much coffee and too little sleep would do to a person. Especially when that man was being fuelled entirely by caffeine, fear, and worry. He supposed he was on an adrenaline high—the intensity of the action itself giving him the energy he needed to be a part of it.

But oh yeah, the coffee definitely made a difference. He paused briefly in his frivolous scribbling, turning around to give Larry a small, grateful smile as he set yet another cup of coffee down on the table. Larry also handed a cup to Amita, who quietly whispered her thanks before turning back to her laptop.

"Charles," Larry spoke softly and cautiously as Charlie lifted the coffee to his lips.

Charlie nearly choked as the hot coffee scalded his tongue. "Yes, Larry," he croaked. "What is it?"

"Our search here does not appear to be progressing efficiently," Larry pointed out. "It's so broad; it's as if we are searching for a particular celestial body in the night sky by simply scanning through every single point above without applying any prior knowledge to the search."

Charlie raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Larry, I don't have time for this. I have to keep going here, or I'm never going to find Don."

"Charles," Larry said firmly, placing his hands on Charlie's shoulders. "If we were to utilize certain techniques along with our own acquired knowledge, we'd be able to locate our star in the sky much more efficiently. But right now, we're simply looking in randomly upwards towards the heavens with no direction as to where to look."

"He's right, Charlie," Amita spoke up. "This analysis is looking for Don _everywhere_. There has to be some way we can use more general knowledge to focus our search on certain key areas."

"General knowledge?" Charlie was confused. "Like what? What are you talking about?"

He watched Amita and Larry exchange hesitant glances. Shaking his head, Charlie started to turn around. They were making sense, mostly, but it wasn't helpful. They didn't _have_ any information or other knowledge. They were working with what they knew already. He was doing the best he could to narrow down the search areas.

And yet it still wasn't enough. He was still helpless to find his brother. Frustration welled up inside Charlie, clamoring to get out. He tossed the marker he was holding to the ground angrily.

"Charles," Larry soothed, "unfortunately this is a very sensitive subject matter for you. But what Amita and I are attempting to communicate here is that there are possibly some inferences that can be made here about Don's kidnapper and his motives and intentions that might prove useful to our analysis."

_Inferences. Right._ Charlie figured out what Larry was getting at.

"You mean like how we know that FBI agents are usually kidnapped for a very specific reason," Charlie said. "Like for revenge, or a need of information. And given Ralph Shore's past history with Don, the motive here is probably the former."

He shuddered.

"Yes, exactly," Larry nodded in encouragement. "Now, you are much more versed in such criminal patterns than I am. And I am aware of how difficult it would be to incorporate some of these patterns into your analysis, given that the situation so closely involves a loved one."

Larry paused, and Charlie nodded. _Yes_. The situation did so closely involve a loved one. His brother. If he messed up, his brother was dead, simple as that. If that happened, how could he go home and face his dad or Robin ever again? How could he face anyone? Okay, Larry was right. The only way around this was to focus. His best chance was to concentrate. He must force himself to do that.

"_I've seen this happen to you over and over again."_

He reached up, rubbing his face with his hands.

"_The stress hits too close to home, and you don't see straight. You check out."_

He could hear his brother's voice as clear as he had that day. He could feel Don's hand shaking his shoulder—could see Don's eyes boring intensely into his, silently imploring Charlie to screw his head back on and get focused.

"_What do I do now?"_

"_Go to your gut."_

Go to your gut. He could do that. He did it back then, with Amita. It had taken another try or two from Don and the rest of the FBI team, but he'd done it, hadn't he? He'd gone to his gut, and he'd figured out that Amita had sneakily given the FBI her IP address right under her kidnapper's nose.

Don had asked him to go to his gut. He'd asked Charlie then, but he might as well be asking Charlie now. Don needed Charlie to go to his gut.

Right now, Charlie's gut was churning, spinning in time with his brain as all the possibilities of what a kidnapper hell-bent on revenge could do to Don.

_No._ He refused to think of these possibilities in words. Words would not be helpful in this case. No, probably numbers would be more useful here.

He vaguely registered Larry and Amita watching him intently as he spun back around towards the board. He picked up the eraser off the tray and began wiping furiously up, down, everywhere. The board was a perfectly clear window. Suddenly Amita was there, holding out the marker he'd only just thrown across the room a minute ago. Slowly, he accepted the marker, faintly nodding his thanks.

"Atta boy, Charles," Larry muttered from somewhere behind him.

Charlie managed to get about three lines of equations scribbled out on to the board before he turned around.

"Do you think we should assume that Ralph Shore wants to stay completely hidden? Maybe he wants to be somewhere where he can easily dispose of a . . . um, body." He couldn't help but wince at the word _body_. Don's body. "But on the other hand, what if he plans to keep Don alive for awhile?" _To do God knows what to him._ "Maybe it's less important to be isolated then, as long as he can . . . uh . . . stash him away somewhere no one will see or hear him."

Another shudder and a shaky breath.

"I see no reason why we shouldn't assume both possibilities for the time being, Charles," Larry answered softly. "Let's see what that yields first, and then if the results are too broad, we can always focus in on one or the other. Maybe by then the FBI will have found sufficient evidence to sway our assumptions one way or the other."

"_Go to your gut."_

Larry was right, of course. Charlie nodded and looked towards Amita. "All right. Amita, we'll need a large print-out map of our search area."

Amita nodded and quickly returned to her laptop.

"Hey, brain trust," Nikki's voice suddenly drifted into the conference room. She appeared, holding a small file. "Liz and I just got back from talking to Shore's boss from the hospital. Dude wasn't happy about us waking him up so early in the morning, but he told us some things that may or may not be useful for you guys."

The three of them watched her expectantly, waiting for her to continue.

"Apparently our guy's a bit of an outdoorsman," Nikki explained. "He likes to go camping up in the mountains every time he gets a few days off. I guess he's gone up there with some of his coworkers before to camp and hike and go fishing, stuff like that. I don't know, maybe he took Don up in the mountains somewhere."

"Makes sense," Amita agreed. "He could have wanted to go somewhere where he's really comfortable, and to an area he's really familiar with."

Nikki nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking."

Charlie's mind was spinning; thousands of thoughts were mulling around in his brain. "Um, do you know exactly where Shore would go?"

Nikki shrugged. "His boss wasn't really sure. He did give us a list of other people Shore goes camping with. Liz and Colby are out talking to some of those people now. We'll let you know when we have more."

Charlie nodded slowly, watching Nikki leave. Another big lead. He hoped so fervently that they were right about this. In his analysis, he'd be placing a heavy emphasis on areas Ralph Shore frequented, but what if they were wrong? What if they _weren't_ in the mountains?

"_Go to your gut."_

Don's voice raced through his head again. Here, his gut was telling him that Shore had taken Don somewhere in the mountains, to a place Shore was familiar with.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

I honestly can't remember if I replied to people's reviews this time but I'm pretty sure I didn't, so thanks to all of you who reviewed! Here is part 8.

There are some pieces of dialogue in this chapter taken directly from the season 2 episode "Rampage" (although I'm only like 75% sure that's what episode it's from).

As always, thanks for reading, enjoy this chapter, and please leave some feedback!

Chapter 8

6:14 a.m.

Peeking down from the stairway, Alan let out a quiet sigh. The entire Brooks family, sans Robin, was asleep in the living room. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that his hosting skills probably weren't what they usually were. He'd forgotten to offer them blankets to sleep with, or even maybe one of the two unused beds upstairs. It simply hadn't occurred to him four hours ago when he'd noticed Robin's sister asleep on the sofa and her parents slouched side by side on the couch.

It wasn't like him, he knew, to slouch off on being cordial to houseguests. He'd simply been too exhausted and shell-shocked the previous night to really think about such things. And then, somewhere around 3 am, Robin had forced him to go try and get some sleep. He'd complied, but had lain in bed for over an hour before sleep finally took hold. Then he'd woken up around five, and hadn't been able to fall asleep again. So now, he wandered back downstairs to find Robin's parents and sister asleep, and Robin nowhere to be found. Wherever she was, Alan figured, she probably needed some time alone.

Stifling a yawn, Alan found his way into the kitchen. Almost immediately he noticed that all the coffee mugs they'd used the night before had been cleaned and put away. In fact, the whole kitchen looked cleaner than it had three hours ago.

He cast a glance out the window and found Robin on the bench in the backyard by the koi pond, asleep. She looked so uncomfortable, but like him, she had to be incredibly exhausted after an endless night of worry and fear.

Time to put on yet another pot of coffee. He'd almost lost track of just how many pots he'd made in the last twelve hours or however long it was that they'd been at the house. If Don were here, he'd be making fun of his father for being even _more_ of a caffeine addict than he was.

Of course, if Don were here, there'd be no need for Alan's excessive coffee drinking. Alan still couldn't fathom how things could have gone so horribly wrong. Of course, by now he knew that some madman had kidnapped his son, looking for revenge. A lump formed in Alan's throat. He didn't even know whether or not his oldest boy was still alive. What if he wasn't? What if Don was lying dead at the bottom of a cliff somewhere, his body mangled from a fall from the top?

_Oh, come on_. There was no way to know that was the case. Don could also be very much alive, missing home and trying to figure out how to make it out of his situation. Alan decided he'd rather think about that possibility. Oh, how he'd smother and hover over his son when he came home. He'd cook his boy pancakes for breakfast, a rib-eye steak for dinner. Don would of course complain about the incessant attention he'd receive, insisting he was okay and that he could take care of himself, and Alan of course planned to not listen.

The coffeepot sputtered and spat, signaling a completed brew. He carelessly poured two cups, spilling some in the process. Quickly, he wiped it up before adding sweetener to his own cup and cream to the other.

He left one cup on the counter while he went to open the back door, then returned to take both mugs outside with him. Slowly, so as not to spill, he crossed the backyard and sat down on the edge of the bench Robin was awkwardly curled up on.

Alan reached out to gently shake the woman's shoulder. "Robin," he whispered.

"Don?" Robin whispered back, her eyes still closed. Alan's heart broke at the word. Her eyes opened.

"No," Alan breathed. "Just me. You look incredibly uncomfortable there, so I thought I'd wake you up and see if you wanted some coffee before you became permanently stuck in that position."

Robin laughed quietly as she sat up. "Good call. This is already less than comfortable. How about you? Did you sleep?"

Alan scoffed. "Hardly. Sleeping seems to be a lost cause, hence the coffee." He handed her a mug, which she accepted with a small smile.

"Any word?" she asked. Her tone was hopeful but skeptical.

He shook his head. "I haven't heard from anyone since before I went to bed. I hope it means they're all just too busy making progress and that they'll call us later."

"Maybe," she agreed half-heartedly.

"He could still be okay," he said. "I know it doesn't seem likely, but he still could be fine. We can't let go of that possibility. We have to hold onto it tight, or we'll never make it through this."

She looked at him knowingly. "I know. I just can't stand this not knowing one way or the other, you know?"

He nodded slowly. He knew exactly what she meant. The uncertainty had long ago settled in his gut like a lead ball. He'd never been so anxious in his life.

Alan watched Robin sip her coffee, noticing the way her hand shook with nerves.

"Maybe if we don't hear anything by 7 o'clock we'll call Charlie," he suggested. "I'm sure they're not sharing _every_ single detail with us, just the really important stuff. And I don't know about you, but I want to know everything. So we'll just call and tell them we can't sit here not hearing anything anymore."

Robin smiled. "That's sounds like a really good plan, Alan."

* * *

6:53 a.m.

"_I really can't take you looking at your watch anymore."_

"_Sorry, sorry."_

Don smiled at the memory. Megan Reeves had been one of few who weren't afraid to call him out on his frequent watch-checking nervous habit. He'd been doing it a lot the past few hours—there wasn't much else to do while he sat in a dark basement, tied to a pole.

It was too bad Megan had long ago planned a trip overseas for this weekend and therefore hadn't been able to make it to the wedding, Don thought. But then again, _he_ hadn't even been able to make it to the wedding, so he was one to talk.

But although they had sporadically been in touch and Don had heard a lot about Megan through Larry, it would have been nice to see her. She'd always been a good friend to him.

As it was, he still had a lot of good friends at his wedding, mostly from his old team. He wondered what they were doing now. Were they all working to look for him? Surely they would be. How much did they know? How close were they to finding him?

And how was his family? They were probably worried sick. Was Charlie helping? Don hoped so. As long as Charlie didn't lose it, Don figured his little brother would be useful in this situation. How likely was it that Charlie had the ability to think clearly right now? Don had seen his brother almost literally drown in a sea of numbers, most recently when Amita had been kidnapped. But maybe Charlie could do it. Maybe Charlie would figure out where he was.

He could only hope. Using normal investigative techniques, it wasn't all that likely that the FBI would find him in time. But Don had confidence in his brother. Charlie always seemed to have a mathematical formula for everything. If anyone could find Don, it would be Charlie.

At long last, the basement door squeaked open. All thought faded from Don's mind as he quickly snapped into focus. This could be his chance.

Through the light filtering in from outside the door, Don could just make out Shore's smug expression.

"Agent Eppes," Shore greeted with a sarcastically pleasant tone. "I hope you slept well last night. I know I sure did. I don't often stay in cabins; I much prefer camping outside in a tent when I come up to this area. But that bed upstairs was surprisingly comfortable. I'm so glad a buddy of mine from high school happens to own this cabin and is letting me stay here for awhile. It's so perfectly suited to my needs."

_Needs, huh?_ _Like holding a federal agent prisoner? _

"What exactly do you intend to do with me, Shore?" Don asked. "Are you just going to make me sit here until you decide if you want to kill me or not?"

Shore laughed a hearty laugh. "Of course not! First of all, I've already decided to kill you. But I've been waiting to do this for such a long time. I just want to take it slow and enjoy it, you know, like a big piece of chocolate cake. You wouldn't want to eat a large, rich slice of chocolate cake too fast, would you? No, you'd get a stomachache. Instead, you want to savor the cake."

That was certainly a new one. Don was pretty sure of all the death threats he'd ever received, that his demise had never been compared to a dessert before.

"Okay," Don mumbled. "So, what, you plan to torture me first? Believe me; you're not all that creative."

Shore laughed again. "Well, that's all right. I'm not exactly going for creativity here. My only goal here is to avenge my brother's death, Agent Eppes. I don't care if my methods have been used before."

"Look, you said it yourself before," Don started. "You said that your brother had made a few mistakes. You said you didn't agree with all of his decisions. What about this? Isn't this just as bad as what he did?"

"This is different." Shore's tone had turned cold. "This is _much_ different, Agent Eppes. I have a good justification here. You have a younger brother. How would you feel if someone gunned him down just because he made a few bad choices in life?"

Don's stomach twisted even just thinking about that, but he forced the awful feeling aside. "Yeah, I do have a brother. Imagine what this will do to him. You know how it feels, right? Imagine the pain my brother will have to go through if you kill me. Do you really want to do that to another brother?"

Just like that, Shore's face twisted back into a look of strange amusement. "You're right. Of course you're right, Agent Eppes. Silly me, what was I thinking? Of course I have to let you go now. I'll even give you a lift home and we'll just go our separate ways and that will be that!" Shore let out a short, sardonic laugh. "Did you actually think that was going to work?"

Don simply glared. "No, I really didn't. I just want you think about what you're doing here."

"Good point," Shore said, smiling condescendingly down at him. "Now that I'm thinking about it harder, I realize something important. If I wanted to get true revenge here, perhaps I should have just taken that brother of yours, so that you could feel what I have to feel."

Don's blood ran cold. He knew Shore wasn't being entirely serious, and was just trying to get a rise out of Don, but still. Obviously the man had contemplated taking that other route to get to him at some point. Obviously Shore had considered taking Charlie before. Shore had proven right away, in the parking lot of Don's apartment building, that he knew all about Don's family. Don had been extremely lucky that his captor had decided only to take him.

Shore must have read Don's thoughts clearly. "Don't worry, Agent Eppes. I didn't see a need to involve anyone in this directly other than you. Your family is safe, especially if you don't do anything stupid."

There was sincerity in Shore's eyes that Don believed in. Hopefully his faith wasn't misguided. Hopefully. He was staking his family's lives on it.

"So," Don said as casually as he could. There had been an awkward enough long silence that he figured it was now or never. "How's a guy supposed to relieve himself down here?"

Shore smiled with that same weird, amused look yet again. Don waited for his response, unsure of how to interpret the other man's facial expression.

"Well, I suppose I can't have you relieving yourself down here. That buddy of mine who owns this place? He doesn't know about all the fun we're having here, and it's probably best if it stays that way. So I can't be having you stink up the place. I best show you the toilet."

"Gee, thanks," Don replied sarcastically as Shore unlocked the handcuffs behind him. He held back a groan, as the sudden shift in position caused his arm muscles to protest.

"Stand up," Shore ordered. Don somehow noticed through the darkness that Shore's gun had made a sudden appearance, now awfully close to his face. Don stood up, his head spinning a little. This was what he'd been waiting for. Shore recuffed his hands behind his back.

Slowly, Shore led Don back up the rickety old stairs to the main level of the cabin. In the early morning light, Don could see that it was mostly one room. The bathroom was tucked away in a corner next to the kitchen area. There were two doors to the outside; one in the kitchen and one directly across from it.

Shore opened the door to the bathroom, which Don was slightly dismayed to find had no windows. His captor stood there expectantly waiting for Don to enter.

Don raised his eyebrows. "Uh, you're not expecting me to take care of business with my hands behind my back, are you?"

Shore chuckled. "My apologies, Agent Eppes." Don was getting a little tired of Shore's sarcastic, fake politeness. But he was uncuffed, and Shore followed him into the bathroom, gun trained on the back of Don's neck.

Don stopped, turning to look at Shore again. "I can't at least have some privacy?"

Shore regarded him carefully. "Well, I didn't _really_ want to watch you, and there aren't any windows in here, so I suppose I can wait right outside the door. I'll have the gun pointed at the door, so you better not try anything. Let me know first before you try to come back out. If you surprise me, I'll of course have to shoot you."

With that, the door shut and Don was alone in the small bathroom, exactly where he wanted to be.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

All right, here things start to come to a head. I feel I may have overbuilt you guys up for Don's escape plan a bit, but then again, maybe not. Hope it doesn't disappoint. Let me know what you think!

Also, this chapter was revamped and revised a lot more than is average for me. Therefore, the probability of their being a lot of typos/errors is much greater, so I apologize in advance, but I'm pretty sure I caught them all. Maybe not, though.

Chapter 9

7:01 a.m.

What made a model employee with no criminal record wake up one day and decide to become a kidnapper and possibly a murderer?

Ralph Shore had lived in Los Angeles for almost three years. He'd been a security guard at a hospital; he was well-liked by all his coworkers and his boss. And yet he'd been walking around for ten years, harboring a terrible grudge against an FBI agent who'd shot his brother. Why now? That's what David couldn't figure out. Why not three years ago when he'd first moved to the same town as Don? Why not ten years ago when his brother died?

Something didn't add up. Something seriously didn't make sense. There had to have been some trigger. Ralph Shore didn't just wake up one morning a decade later and decide to avenge his brother's death. He knew where Don lived, he had a car waiting for them to switch into, he'd likely found himself a hideout—or a place to dump a body. A lot of planning had gone into this. David wondered how long ago Shore had started planning this.

Colby and Liz appeared from the elevator, exhaustion and defeat evident on their faces.

"Any luck?" David asked them, already knowing the answer.

Colby shook his head. "No one seems to know exactly where he'd go. Apparently he has a lot of favorite spots, but none of them seem like a good place to hide with a captive or hide a body."

David sighed. "Well, tell Charlie and them anyway. Maybe it'll factor into whatever it is they're doing somehow."

Colby nodded and left for the conference room. David watched him go.

"Miss this place?" Liz asked quietly.

"Yeah," David admitted with a small smile. "Lot of good people in this office."

"No Colby-ish best friends out there in D.C.?" Liz asked light-heartedly.

David laughed a little. "Nah. No Colby best friends. No Nikki to make fun of us. No Liz to be the voice of reason, no Charlie doing crazy math magic, and no Don keeping everybody in line. I really do miss it here sometimes."

Liz smiled at him. "Good to be back? Even just for a few days?"

David shook his head. "Not like this. It is nice, but not under these circumstances. It'll feel great if we can just find Don, you know?"

Liz nodded sadly. "It's hard to stay hopeful about this and still be realistic."

David nodded his agreement. "Yeah. Times like this it really sucks to be an FBI agent with experience and know exactly how small the odds are. But we just have to keep treating it like a kidnapping until we know for sure it's something more. And even if Don's dead, we're going to have to keep looking until we find his body."

"Yeah," Liz agreed. "Hopefully we can at least give his family that."

Just then, Charlie emerged quickly from the conference room, rushing towards them, dragging a giant map haphazardly behind him. David couldn't quite hold back a smile at the sight. Amita, Larry, Nikki, and Colby appeared behind him.

"David!" Charlie called. "David! I think I may have something. Uh . . ." he trailed off as he fumbled with the map. Amita and Colby took the map from his hands, unfolding it and holding it up behind the mathematician.

The map was held low, so Charlie knelt down in front of it. David watched the frazzled man, marker smudge on his cheek, kneeling on the floor wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

"Okay," Charlie started quickly. "So Colby and Liz found out that Ralph Shore often goes up into Angeles National Forest. We weighed fairly heavily on this, and generated this map. According to the algorithm we'd already come up with and put into the computer program, I estimate a 84.6 percent probability he'd probably take Don to somewhere in this colored area here."

Charlie was poking frantically at the map to an area that was colored in red. David leaned forward. It was a relatively small, highly searchable area. The fastest way to look would be an air search, but David didn't want to risk having Shore being scared into possibly shooting Don, if Don was still alive.

"Well, he might have to have someplace to go," David pointed out, "especially if he still has Don. Let's look and see if there are any cabins or any buildings up that way." With that, all four agents turned to computers to search through topological maps as quickly as possible.

"Wait, wait!" Colby said suddenly. David wheeled his chair over to his friend's computer to take a closer look.

"What's that?" Colby pointed to his screen.

"That's a building!" Charlie exclaimed anxiously.

"It's a cabin of some sort," David specified.

"That's probably where he is," Charlie breathed frantically. "That's probably where Don is! You guys should go up there and look."

"Now wait, hold on Charlie," Colby said, laying a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "We have absolutely no evidence of that. The connection here is pretty thin."

"He's right, Charlie," David agreed. Unfortunately, Colby was right. If they raced out to that cabin in the mountains right now, they'd be playing out a major, major hunch with absolutely no corroborating evidence other than Charlie's math. On the other hand . . .

"_Why do we ever waste any time doubting Charlie?"_

Colby's words from when Amita had been kidnapped found their way into David's ears. It was true, Charlie was pretty much always right.

"But let's quickly make sure there are no other buildings in Charlie's search area," David continued. "If that's all there is, then I'm willing to put a team together to go look. We've got no other leads at this point."

Charlie gave him a grateful look. Even when emotional, David figured, if Charlie came up with anything it was usually right.

Five minutes later, it was clear that the cabin was the only standing structure in all of Charlie's search area. It was time for a quick decision. David, who had somehow been put in charge of this search and rescue mission, needed to decide if they could justify the nearly two hour drive up to the northern edge of the forest. At this point, they had no other options.

If Don was already dead, the extra time would make no difference—except for that Shore would likely be running away. Although, if Shore had killed Don early on and disposed of his body right away, they likely had already missed their chance of catching Shore. But if Don was still alive but not where Charlie's search grid put them, then they'd really be wasting valuable time. But if Charlie was right . . . well, then they'd likely be saving Don from a terrible, terrible fate.

David glanced around, into the eyes of everyone in the room. Everyone was looking at him, expectantly waiting for his decision. In a sudden flash, David was briefly reminded of when Colby had been arrested but had revealed his true cover when he was out on a freighter, counting on the team to come and rescue him. Don and Megan had made their decision, ready to head out to that freighter with little evidence and no warrant, and were only waiting for David to agree.

What it came down to was Charlie's 84.6 percent, and the fact that his former boss was counting on them the same way Colby had all those years ago.

"All right. Liz, Nikki, you guys get together a tac team right now. Charlie, you print me out some specific directions to this cabin. We roll in ten."

Everyone sprang into action right away. David quickly reached out to grab Charlie's arm.

"Charlie," he said, "I think you should probably take Larry and Amita and go back to your house."

Charlie shook his head, as David had expected. "No, no, no. We'll wait for you here."

"Charlie, it doesn't make a difference if you wait here or at home," David pointed out. "You really should go home. Think about your dad and Robin. You should really be with them right now, okay? I promise you we will call you the minute we know something." He emphasized his point with a hard look into Charlie's eyes until finally, the younger man nodded.

"Okay," Charlie relented. "Just please, go find my brother."

David nodded. He'd do everything in his power to do just that.

* * *

7:03 a.m.

All business was taken care of, so to speak. At least Don wouldn't attempting an escape on a full bladder.

He slowly zipped his pants and took his time tucking his white dress shirt back into his tuxedo pants. Somehow, he'd lost all the other parts of his tuxedo other than the shirt, pants, and shoes.

He didn't flush right away; instead he tiptoed across the small bathroom and placed his ear on the door. However, he noticed that the door had an old style knob and lock, with a small keyhole under the knob. That was oddly convenient.

Don silently squatted down to peer through the key hole. All he could see was the gun Shore held in his hand, pointed down to the ground.

He could totally do it. It might even work, too. He'd have to do it just right, and react so quickly afterwards. He might even be able to get control of the gun. Considering how unsure he was about the possibility of a rescue, this might be the best move.

Surely, if Don failed, Shore wouldn't kill him. Shore wouldn't waste his precious revenge plan, whatever it entailed that Don could unfortunately imagine, that Don was sure of. He was literally betting his life on it.

His heart pounded audibly in his chest.

Silently, he pulled open the door to the small cabinet beneath the sink, wincing as it let out a barely audible squeak. Peering inside, Don was delighted to find that this bathroom was equipped with this most basic and standard of bathroom-related items - which is exactly what he'd been hoping for.

Without a sound, Don quickly grasped the long, skinny object in his hand. It was a little small, but it would do as the makeshift weapon he'd been assuming - and praying - would be in the bathroom. He once again realized how dangerous and flawed his half-baked plan was, but at this point he really had to try _something._

"Are you almost done in there?" Shore called impatiently.

"Yeah," Don called back. He leaned back over to flush the toilet.

_Now, Don. While the sound of the flushing toilet is creating a small distraction._

A solid, firm kick to the bathroom door and he was off to the races. Immediately, Don lunged forward. He was halfway through propelling himself through the door before he realized that his kick had sent the door right into Shore's body, knocking him to the floor. Suddenly, Don was out of the bathroom and standing over Shore, toilet plunger raised over his shoulder like a baseball bat. Without really thinking, Don swung immediately, making contact with his assailant's hands and sending the gun skittering harmlessly across the floor. _Home run?_

The small victory didn't last long, however. Shore hooked his feet around Don's ankles and yanked, pulling Don down to the floor. The plunger fell out of Don's grip and rolled away, now just as out of the equation as the gun was. Now all Don could do was fight, using his fists and his reflexes.

He fought desperately, throwing punches when he could. His only hope was to somehow scramble past Shore and get to the gun that currently lay stationary on the floor across the room.

Easier said than done. Shore was putting up one hell of a fight. Don managed to protect his face fairly well, thankfully, only receiving a few blows to the mouth. Most of the fight was Don and Shore trying to push each other aside, both desperately trying to get to the gun.

Don finally managed to pull ahead, his left hand clasping around the cool metal of the gun. Unfortunately, right at the same time, Shore had a tight grip on his right wrist. The way Don's body flopped to the floor plus the angle and force with which Shore pulled his arm backwards proved a bad combination. A painful pop reverberated from his wrist all through his arm. He couldn't quite hold back the loud groan of pain that followed.

The throbbing waves of pain washing through his now-broken arm served as enough of a distraction for Shore to pull himself level with Don and grip the gun handle himself. Don, however, focused his energy on not letting go. The two both grappled with the gun. Shore had the advantage, though, with two good hands to Don's one.

Don barely had time to notice that the gun barrel was pointed in his direction before somewhere in the struggle, the trigger was pulled and the sound of a gunshot filled the small cabin.

TBC

* * *

I love cliffhangers, don't you guys?


	10. Chapter 10

Well, this is a little late, but not too much. That's what happens when your college school year ends and you have to move out of your dorm on the day you plan to update. So now that I've taken a final, packed up my room, and drove 6 hours to my hometown I think maybe it's time to update this. Only a few hours later than would be normal, so yay!

Anywho, here's the update after that last fun cliffhangar, and I hope you all enjoy, and please review at the end. Thanks to all who have done so thus far.

Chapter 10

7:05 a.m.

Pain erupted so fast and hard that Don could barely even register where it was coming from. His vision went grey for a few seconds before finally he knew it was coming from his right shoulder. Fantastic. Now he had a white-hot fiery blaze ripping through his upper arm to accompany the throbbing in his wrist.

It took every ounce of strength and will he had, but by some absolute miracle Don still didn't lose his grip on the gun—not even when his brain shorted out from the initial impact of the gunshot. His right arm was definitely and officially out of the equation. Fortunately, his left hand had a good grip on the gun handle, so he yanked forward. Shore had started to get up off the floor, but Don's pull had caused him to stumble.

Don, in one last act of desperation, took advantage of Shore's small lapse in balance and hooked a leg behind the other man's ankle. Shore landed on the floor with a grunt. The impact shook the floor, and pain flared up again, shooting up and down Don's arm.

_Damn._

With a flash of panic, Don realized he'd lost his grip on the gun. He had to act quickly.

Simultaneously, Don halfway sat up and pulled a table lamp down from the end table next to him with his good arm. Swinging, Don connected with Shore's arm, sending the gun flying. It wasn't exactly his intended goal, because there was no way he could get to the gun now without having to go through Shore first And with the amount of pain he was now in, that would be next to impossible.

And if ever there was a time for a Hail Mary, this was it.

Shore was scrambling to his feet instantly. Don really had only one option at this point—which was to run.

So that's what he did. While Shore crossed the room in search of the gun, Don flew up and out the door. Once outside, he made a break for the trees.

_Shit._ This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind. Shore would be after him within seconds. He only hoped he could be well hidden before then. He ignored the throbbing in his wrist and the blood gradually staining his white shirt and forced himself to a sprint.

* * *

8:55 a.m.

They were making good time. But whether it was good enough remained to be seen. David only wished he could drive faster, but the roads were wet and muddy from the rain. He supposed he should be grateful that the rain had stopped, and this morning was bright and sunny.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, David had begun to realize the true odds of actually finding Don up here anywhere. It had occurred to him that there was a strong possibility that Charlie's analysis was strongly biased toward Don still being alive. David doubted that Charlie had left a lot of room for any alternative possibilities.

Still, what did they have to lose?

If Don was alive, then Charlie's math would probably lead them to the right spot. But if he was dead, then what difference did it make?

The terrain had been rough so far, but it was starting to even out a little. That was good, David figured. He'd been getting a little tired of watching Colby's and Nikki's heads bobbing vigorously up and down through the rearview mirror.

They'd ridden mostly in silence, each of the four of them likely pondering all the things they could possibly find up here.

"There!" Liz suddenly blurted out from the passenger seat. David turned his head to follow her gaze.

There it was, the small cabin they'd been looking for, through a small set of trees. The small cabin they'd been led to by Charlie's math.

David stopped the car.

Behind them, another SUV also came to a halt. Eight people quickly opened their respective doors and hopped out—David, Liz, Nikki, Colby, and the four-man tactical team they'd brought with them.

"All right, Agent Sinclair," said Greg Posey, the leader of the tactical team. "How do you want to play this?"

_Very carefully_, David answered in his head. "Split up into teams. We need to get some eyes inside, but we can't make it obvious we're here. If Shore is in there with Don, we don't want to scare him into shooting him."

The group of them split into teams of two. Posey and his men covered both the back and the front, while David and the rest of the team split up to the side windows.

David found himself making careful steps toward the south side window. The ground was soft and squishy with heavy mud; it was difficult to maintain balance. His heart rate was increasing as the suspense of the situation increased. David could feel the too-familiar feeling of adrenaline rising up within him. In only a few more moments, they'd have their answer. Moments from now, they'd all know what fate had befallen their former team leader. _Hopefully._

He and Nikki reached their side of the cabin, quietly falling against the wall on either side of the window, only the sound of their breath filling the air around them. David nodded at Nikki, and the two simultaneously turned towards what was clearly the kitchen window, their guns still pointed toward the ground.

_Damn._

It hit David like a wave. Something had clearly happened in there. The first thing he registered was the blood on the floor. _Oh, Don, I hope that's not yours._ There was a lamp on the floor, its cord tangled around the skinny end table nearby. A quick scan across the room told David that there were two other rooms in the cabin—one a bathroom, with the door open, and the other what looked like a set of stairs leading to a basement.

"Agent Sinclair," Posey's voice came through his ear piece. David's eyes flicked to the right, where he noticed through the window that the front door had been left wide open. Straight ahead he saw Colby, through the other window, also looking towards the door.

"All right," David spoke into the radio attached to his Kevlar vest. "Colby, you and Liz go around to the back door. Nikki and I will join you, Posey, at the front door. We'll have to make entry."

"Copy that," Colby said.

David and Nikki stalked around to the front while Colby and Liz made their way to the back. David looked briefly through the doorway, shaking his head again at the blood spatter that coated most of the floor in the living area.

"On my count," he said softly into his radio, but also loud enough that the other three near him could hear. "Three. Two. One. Execute."

All eight agents burst inside the doors, a chorus of "FBI!" yells resounding through the small cabin. Colby and Liz, closest to the basement stairs, immediately flanked to their left to head down there. Nikki, nearest to the bathroom, peered inside.

"Clear!" she announced quickly.

"Clear!" came Colby's voice from the depths of the basement.

David lowered his gun. He knelt down to inspect the blood trail further. It was partially dried, but not completely so. Whatever happened here had happened probably a couple hours ago.

From the blood, David figured someone had probably been shot here.

"David," Nikki said. He turned towards her, and she held up a pair of handcuffs. "These were here on the floor in the doorway here."

"There's nothing much in the basement," Colby announced as he and Liz appeared in the doorway to the basement stairs.

"All right, it looks like they were here," David said, realizing he was stating the obvious.

"Yeah," Colby agreed. "So where are they now?"

David shrugged. This was bad. Someone had been shot. The amount of blood wasn't as bad as David had seen in other situations, so the gunshot wound likely hadn't been fatal, from what he could tell. Probably no major blood vessels had been hit. He wouldn't stake his life on that, though.

"Let's split up and search the woods around here," David suggested. Hopefully, _hopefully_, they'd find Don out there somewhere.

* * *

9:05 a.m.

Charlie kept checking his watch every few seconds, _a la_ Don. It made Robin smile, just a little. Her smile, quickly faded, however, as Amita suddenly sat down, slinging an arm around Charlie's shoulders. She realized for the billionth time that morning, with a pang, that there was a very real possibility she might never know the feel of Don's shoulders again. She might never know the feel of any _part_ of Don ever again.

"They should be up there by now," Charlie ground out. "It's been almost two hours. The drive up there is only about an hour and forty minutes. They should be up there. They could call any second."

Robin watched her almost-brother-in-law as he fidgeted, anxiousness oozing out of him. It was putting her a little on edge.

Okay, to be fair, she was already on edge. It wasn't really his fault. She'd been on edge since late yesterday afternoon, ever since Don had not shown up to the wedding.

Oh, God, she felt awful. She could remember the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach as she'd waited and waited for Don to show up, but he never did. She could remember thinking that he'd deliberately done this, that he'd gotten cold feet and had left her at the altar. How could she have thought that? Why hadn't she given him more credit than that?

What if she never saw him again, and what if during the moment that he'd died, she'd been angry with him? She'd never be able to forgive herself.

The truth was, she really had no idea how she'd even move on from this, if Don were to turn up dead. She didn't know how she'd deal with losing him—especially not when she'd come _so close_ to being his wife. And she hated how her well-being was so dependent on his, but the fact is, it _was._

"I just hate this waiting part," Charlie was saying, and Robin realized she'd tuned him out for awhile. "I can't stand sitting here and not doing anything."

Robin scoffed. "Ha. You're telling me. We've been sitting here all night, not doing anything."

Charlie sighed, shooting her a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry, you're right. I wasn't thinking. You're right. At least we were at the FBI all night, trying to help move this thing forward. I can't even imagine sitting here for all those hours just waiting."

Robin felt bad. "I'm sorry Charlie; I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just . . . well, we went so long without hearing anything. It just made me want to crawl out of my own skin, you know?"

"I know," Charlie whispered, his eyes downcast toward the table that sat between them.

Alan, who was seated to Robin's left, lay a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay," he said. "We've all had a rough night." He took a deep breath; Robin noticed how deeply the older man was struggling to maintain his composure. "You're right, Charlie. They're probably up there by now, and we'll hear something very soon."

His reassurances rang a little hollow to Robin. She knew—hell, they _all_ knew—that any number of things might happen up there that might delay David's phone call down to here. The FBI might find themselves in a standoff; trying to negotiate with a madman to get Don released from being a hostage. Or they might find Don and he could be in critical condition and getting him out of there quickly might take huge priority over notifying them.

Or they could simply not find anything up there. Not that she doubted Charlie's math or anything, but hey, they called it _probability_ for a reason. In which case, they'd be back to square one and they'd have to sit here and wait for God only knew how long and she didn't think she could take anymore waiting.

Or—and it made her sick to even ponder this possibility—they could find Don up there somewhere and he'd be dead.

Robin checked her watch. 9:08 a.m.

_Come on._ Someone better call soon. She simply couldn't do this anymore.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks for all the continued support on this story! I love reading all your reviews. Getting them is like opening presents on Christmas. Seriously.

Also, regarding Rosie's review to my last chapter, yes. You are right. Shore and Don were both down, but somewhere in there I think it was mentioned that Shore had started to get back up again, hence Don having to bring him down again.

Chapter 11

10:43 a.m.

This would be so much less difficult if it weren't for all the damn mud. They were in a mountainous area, which added a lot of uphill and downhill to their trek. David couldn't quite stop the laugh that came out of his mouth as he watched Colby's feet fall out from underneath him as the two of them slid more than walked down a hill.

"Damn," Colby muttered. He sat up, and David laughed harder at his former partner as he noticed Colby's entire backside was completely covered in mud. Colby turned to glare at him, but the look did not make David want to stop laughing.

"All right, ha ha," Colby muttered sarcastically. "It could just as easily have been you, you know."

David reached a hand down to help Colby up. "Yeah, but it wasn't me. It was you." He laughed again as he pulled Colby to his feet.

Colby glared at him again, half-heartedly. David could tell the other man was thinking precisely what he was—that it was nice to have some light-hearted, good natured teasing going around.

God, he missed L.A. sometimes. He missed bantering around with Colby all the time, having Nikki make fun of them, going out for beers with the gang after work—dinner at the Eppes house occasionally. It wasn't like he didn't get along with his new team in D.C., but they were all so, well, _professional._ All the time. They got along great at work but they rarely hung out outside the office.

This team here, well, there was something special about this team. Maybe it was just the dynamic and flow among this particular group of people, but no other team David had observed ever really came close. If David had to guess, he'd say it probably had something to do with how involved Don's family was in his life. Don's family had spilled over into Don's team, and therefore somehow Don's team had been naturally incorporated into Don's family.

It was true. Alan Eppes had sort of been the father David never had. And David would stop at nothing to protect Charlie as if the mathematician were his own younger brother.

He prayed to God they'd find Don alive, because there was no way in hell he'd be able to tell Alan and Charlie that their beloved son and brother was never coming home. Nor could he ever manage to tell Robin that she and Don would never be getting married.

"Here man, let me help you out here," David said to Colby with a chuckle. He started to brush Colby's back off, thankful that he was wearing gloves that were keeping his hands mud-free.

It didn't really work, but oh well. It kept David amused for a good few moments.

"Okay, we really should keep going," he said.

"Yeah," Colby agreed, and pointed off slightly to his left. "Let's go that way. I kind of have a good feeling about that way."

"All right then," David said. "Your feeling, your lead."

* * *

10:59 a.m.

For about an hour, he had run. Okay, _run_ was kind of a generous word. He definitely had run for a good few minutes in his desperation to get well away from Shore and that cabin. After that, he'd slowed down to more of a brisk walk.

On the one hand, he'd wanted to keep his path as straight as possible, not twisting and turning anymore than necessary so he could keep track of where he was. On the other hand, he didn't want to leave too obvious of a trail. At some point, he realized he'd pretty much failed at keeping track of where he was, despite his greatest efforts.

So quite some time ago, Don had stopped moving for a few moments to get his bearings. He'd stood still, listening around him, relishing in the quiet that greeted him. He was alone.

Well, Shore may not have been there, but that didn't mean Don wasn't still in trouble. Shore could still find him. He hadn't quite made it to the level of successful escape yet.

Not to mention his arm had felt like it was about ready to fall off. Not a single point anywhere from fingertip to shoulder was free from pain. The pain hadn't fully hit him until he'd stopped, but once he had, it was excruciating.

His shoulder, surprisingly, hadn't bled to bad at first. The volume of blood had been fairly minimal. The bullet was still somewhere in him, he'd realized, because there was no exit would. It was lodged somewhere in him, possibly even staunching the blood flow somewhat. But his intense trek through the forest had aggravated the wound, and he'd started bleeding more heavily. Looking down at his arm, he noted with dismay how nearly the entire right side of his shirt was stained red. _Don't think the tuxedo company will be wanting this rental back._ Unfortunately, he didn't have anything he could use as a makeshift bandage.

He'd also taken stock of his wrist. It was pretty swollen and had some pretty spectacular bruising. Definitely broken.

Alone as he was out here in the woods, he eventually came to the conclusion that there wasn't much he could do for himself. All he could do was try to hold his arm as stationary as possible—easier said than done. Every movement he made with his body sent new white hot flares of agony all along his arm.

His little self-examination and subsequent failed self-treatment brainstorming session had taken nearly another hour. After that, the pain was beginning to reach all new levels, so Don decided to take a break. He'd sat down against a tree and forced himself to keep alert. The worst thing that he could do was to let himself drift off and not be paying attention if Shore came along.

So then he started wondering what his next course of action should be. He couldn't just sit against a tree forever, waiting for a rescue that would likely never come. He was lost somewhere out in the woods. He'd have to get himself out. He couldn't go the way he'd come, wherever that was, because Shore could be waiting for him somewhere.

He didn't even have the slightest clue where he was. He just knew he was in a forest in the mountains somewhere. But which mountains or which forest exactly, he couldn't even begin to guess. Given the time it had taken them to travel up here, he could only conclude that he was in southern California somewhere.

How would he get out of here? He could walk forever and still never find civilization. And all this was complicated by the fairly severe injury to his arm. He was still bleeding.

This was probably the end, Don eventually realized. He was going to bleed out and die here in the woods. Of course, he wasn't just going to give up, that wasn't his way. Eventually, he'd get up and get moving again, once he'd found the strength. He just needed to rest for a little while longer . . .

And now, at the present moment, he was trying so hard to gather the energy to get moving. He tried to pull himself to a standing position, but immediately lowered himself back down as a fire erupted in his shoulder. He landed somewhat ungracefully, setting off a wave of intense throbbing in his wrist.

He leaned his head against the tree. His face was starting to sweat. Waves of pain and nausea came over him, but he sat there waiting them out as best he could.

Maybe a few more minutes here wouldn't hurt.

Face it, he told himself. He probably wasn't going to move much farther anymore. Maybe it was time to just sit here and let what was coming to him come.

God, he just wished this would go away. That he could fall asleep now and wake up whole and unharmed in his bed. Maybe then it would actually be yesterday and he could get up, spend a few minutes shaking off this awful nightmare, and then prepare to marry the woman he loved.

Why did it have to take him so long to realize Robin was the one? Why had they moved so slowly? Why couldn't he have gotten his act together years ago? And hell, they'd even been engaged for over a year and a half. Maybe they should have had the wedding sooner. He was such an idiot. He should have made sure they'd done this sooner.

_I'm so sorry, Robin._ He was filled with despair. _And while I'm at it, I'm sorry Dad and Charlie, too._ He only hoped that maybe someone might chance across him soon, and that his family would eventually learn what happened to him.

A twig snapped off to his left, and he flinched. _No._ Shore was coming.

Instinct kicked in. All Don could think about was running. He made sure his right arm was pinned against his chest before using his left to carefully pull himself to his feet.

_Whoa._ His vision grayed, and he nearly passed out. Footsteps. No, he had to move. Now.

Gritting his teeth, Don stepped forward. He only made it about two steps before he felt himself falling forward. He barely managed to turn himself so as to protect his injured arm before he landed on the ground with a _thud_.

* * *

11:04 a.m.

The mud had mostly dried on Colby's back, and David was amused to see a piece of caked-up dirt falling off of him every few steps.

They'd almost searched their entire area, and there was almost nothing left to do but to turn back. It had occurred to David and Colby a little while ago that maybe Shore had another getaway vehicle somewhere up here. Maybe he'd taken Don and gotten out. Although, it would have been pretty dumb of him not to clean up the scene in the cabin first.

But then again, they weren't exactly dealing with a career criminal here. Shore hadn't even thought to wear gloves while in Don's SUV last night—which was a big part of the reason they were able to bust this case open at all.

_Crunch._

David tripped on a branch, and it broke easily under his feet. He stumbled forward a little, but Colby put out a hand to stop him.

"Thanks," he muttered.

Colby grinned. "I figure one of us should be good to go later when we're done here without needing a shower first." He rubbed the back of his head, and flakes of dried mud fell from his hair.

David laughed. "I appreciate that, man."

A flash of movement caught the corner of David's eye. It was followed by a small sound, like something had fallen to the ground some distance from where they stood.

"You see that?" he immediately asked Colby.

In response, Colby was already headed the direction of the movement. They crossed a small patch of trees, David's heart pounding. He fervently hoped that they weren't running off after something stupid like a dead bird.

_Oh, damn._

This was definitely no dead bird.

This was a man in a blood-splattered white dress shirt and black slacks and muddy dress shoes. This was Don Eppes laying face down in a pile of wet leaves. But he certainly looked like he could be dead.

TBC

* * *

Sorry this chapter's a little short, but I couldn't resist another cliffhanger. Please review!


	12. Chapter 12

The first part of this chapter I had originally written as all one big scene with the end of the last chapter, but the other day when I posted Chapter 11 I felt like being a big jerk and making that one last dramatic cliffhanger. So now, this chapter is nice and long because it has part of the previous chapter in it. :) Hope you all enjoy, and as always, please read and review!

Chapter 12

11:06 a.m.

David watched as Colby fell to the ground next to Don, immediately checking for a pulse. Colby quickly looked up and nodded at David. David let out a deep breath.

_Miracle of all miracles—somehow, Don is still alive._ It certainly wasn't obvious before, the way Don was laying with his face stuffed to the ground.

He sat down at Don's other side and he and Colby gingerly rolled their former boss onto his back. David shook his head as he noticed the wound on Don's right shoulder, as well as the way his arm had swelled to the size of a small grapefruit. Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but still.

"Don," he heard himself call as he lightly slapped Don's cheek. "Come on man, wake up."

Don's eyes opened fairly quickly, much to David's relief. The older man looked confused for a moment, but recognition eventually set in.

"David," Don rasped. "Colby. God. I can't tell you how glad I am to see you."

David rubbed Don's uninjured arm. "Hey, man. We're pretty glad to see you, too."

Don simply lay there for a moment, breathing heavily. "Hey," he finally said. "Where's . . . uh . . . where's Shore? Did you get him?"

David exchanged glances with Colby. There was really no use being anything other than honest here in this situation.

"We haven't found him yet, Don," David explained. "But don't worry about that, okay? We got Liz and Nikki and a few other agents out here looking. We're just want to get you out of here, all right?"

They had to slow down that bleeding from Don's shoulder. David pulled at the Velcro on his Kevlar vest. "Let's tie my jacket around his shoulder," he suggested to Colby. "I'd say we should use yours, but it's so dirty I'd be afraid it would give him some kind of infection or something."

Colby gave an amused half-smile, and David felt his spirits really lift as even Don cracked a smile.

"Yeah, Colby," Don breathed. "What, did making that mud-pie really take priority over trying to find me?"

Colby laughed. "Yeah, well, I just couldn't resist, you know?"

David grinned. Maybe Don wasn't so bad off if he was cracking jokes with them. One just wouldn't know it just by looking at his pale face and the blood coating his right side. He looked half-dead. If David had to guess, though, he'd say Don was mostly suffering indescribable pain with some blood loss, and that if they could get him help soon, he'd be okay.

"Colby, you should radio the others," David ordered. "I'll take care of him. And probably see if you can get a chopper in here somewhere. We're going to want to get him out of here as fast as we can."

Colby nodded, standing up. David, meanwhile, focused all of his attention onto Don.

"Hey, Don," David spoke softly. "You think you can sit up?"

Don nodded, and reached his left hand out. David grasped it and gently pulled upwards. Once upright, Don looked as if he were about to pitch right backwards, so David reached out a steadying hand to his back.

"All right?" he asked. He waited for Don's nod, and when he got it, he continued. "Okay. I'm sorry, man; this is really going to hurt."

"'S okay," Don ground out through gritted teeth. "Just do it."

As carefully as he could, David looped the arms of his jacket around Don's injured shoulder. He tied the knot loosely before pulling it as tight as possible. He closed his eyes at Don's painful groan. As fast as he could, David tied a double knot into the jacket. That should do it. Don groaned again as the makeshift bandage was tightened.

"All right, we're done," David announced as soothingly as he could. "Let's get you out of here. Get you back to your family. You got a wedding to reschedule."

"How the hell did you guys find me?" Don asked softly.

David chuckled. "Charlie's math. How else?"

Don smiled.

Now, David was excited. Unlike before when he so dreaded calling Don's family—because he was sure it would be with bad news—now he was excited. He was so very excited to call them and tell them that Don had been found and that he most likely would be okay.

* * *

11:11 a.m.

Who made up the whole "make a wish at 11:11" rule? Robin didn't usually put any stock in superstitions like that, but right now, she'd do whatever she could if it meant Don could come safely back to her. She made her wish, and made it fervently.

_I wish David would call within the next five minutes, with good news_.

And just for good measure, she made the wish eleven times. Couldn't hurt.

Seriously, what could be taking them so long? Even if the roads weren't great—which given the storm, they probably weren't—the FBI team should have made it up there a long time ago. Surely they knew something?

It was possible that there was no cell service where they were. But still. Surely there was some way they could get word down here.

Charlie had literally been pacing around the house for over an hour now. It kind of drove Robin nuts, but at the same time, watching him go back and forth, back and forth, gave her something to do. She was basically pacing with her eyes.

Her family had gone back to their hotel that morning when Charlie and Amita had returned. They'd tried to take her with them, but there was no way in hell she was leaving here until they'd found him. Thankfully they hadn't pushed the issue; they'd respected her wishes and left her. Secretly, she was glad they were gone. They'd spent the whole night offering her empty reassurances, but really, they didn't understand at all. They didn't understand the intensity of her worry and how it felt like all of her insides were spinning through a washing machine.

They didn't understand how she felt about Don. Hell, they hadn't even _met_ Don yet. She felt much more comfortable being here with just Don's family—people who understood how deeply her fear ran, because theirs ran just as deep.

"Anybody hungry?" Alan suddenly blurted out. "I could make us some sandwiches. It's basically lunch time. Let me make some sandwiches."

No one answered him. No one was hungry. But preparing food was something that kept Alan distracted, so no one had the heart to stop him.

Robin watched him stand up quickly and practically fly into the kitchen. She wasn't quite sure what had prompted his sudden spring into action, but she had a feeling. She herself was getting slightly beyond fidgety.

"Is turkey okay for everyone?" Alan's voice called from the kitchen. "That's the only lunch meat we've got."

Robin wasn't sure her voice worked, so she didn't answer. Thankfully, Amita took up that slack for everyone.

"Yeah, Alan, turkey is fine."

Robin nearly jumped out of her skin as Charlie's phone started ringing. Her heart leapt to her throat. Charlie, meanwhile, had been in the living room but pretty much literally sprang into the dining room. He knocked over one of the chairs in his haste. He snatched his phone up as the chair landed loudly on the ground.

"David," Charlie said quickly. He'd answered without even checking to see who was calling.

Alan appeared in the doorway, and the three of them watched Charlie, never blinking.

The caller did all the talking; Charlie remained wide-eyed and silent. His face didn't give much away as he listened. Robin silently willed him to make some expression—to give them _some_ _sign_ as to what he was hearing.

"Thanks, David," Charlie eventually whispered, and hung up.

He slowly set the phone down on the table, his eyes still widened in shock. Robin drew her legs up onto the chair, hugging her knees. _Don's dead._ Charlie'd been rendered speechless, and he didn't look so good. That had to mean bad news.

"He's . . . uh, well . . . th-they found him. He's alive." Charlie was breathing easier now. "Don's alive." His face broke out into a shocked smile before Robin could even comprehend his words.

But once she did, she leapt to her feet.

"Well, where is he?" she asked urgently. "Let's go to him!"

_Well, what do you know?_ Maybe there was something to that 11:11-wish rule after all. Don was alive!

* * *

3:20 p.m.

For all the rushing around they had done after David's phone call, Alan had to admit—he was a little dismayed how pointless it had been. They'd fallen into the old _hurry up and wait_ trap. He, Robin, Charlie, and Amita—none of them had even really thought. They'd flown about the house and were on the road within two minutes of Charlie hanging up.

And they'd now been at the hospital his son had been brought to for nearly three hours and they still hadn't seen him yet. Alan had found he was only slightly less tense than he had been when they were sitting in the house with no information. He kept telling himself to calm down, Don would be just fine.

His son had suffered a broken wrist, which they were setting and repairing in surgery. Don had also sustained a gunshot wound to his shoulder. The bullet had lodged itself somewhere inside, and the surgeon was currently also tasked with removing it. So far, Don had been in surgery since right around the time they'd arrived—so about three hours. He'd be done soon, _in theory,_ and then he'd be moved to recovery and then finally after that—_finally_—Alan would get to see his son.

"You guys really should eat," David said, entering the waiting room. Colby was behind them, and the two of them were carrying some saran-wrapped sandwiches. "You might not be hungry, but it wouldn't be all that great if you all passed out from being under-nourished before Don gets out of surgery."

"Wait, we ate recently, didn't we?" Charlie's features twisted a little as he thought. He looked to Alan for help.

Alan couldn't help but laugh a little. It ended up being more of a release of internal tension than anything else. "No, Charlie. I don't believe we have eaten lately. I know I haven't eaten since you were still at the FBI, so I couldn't even tell you when the last time _you_ ate was."

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "No, wait. You made sandwiches, didn't y—oh. Wait. That's right. You were _going_ to make sandwiches but then David called."

"Yes, that's what happened." Alan laughed a little harder at his son. Oh, his younger son certainly epitomized the stereotypical absent-minded professor sometimes.

"Well, here," David said. He and Colby distributed four sandwiches to Alan, Charlie, Robin, and Amita and then kept one each for themselves.

They ate in silence for a few moments. Alan hadn't realized he was hungry, but just eating a small amount made him feel stronger and more alert.

"So what happens now?" Robin asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "I mean, how are you going to catch the guy who did this?"

_Thank you, Robin._ That was a question Alan really wanted to know the answer to.

David cleared his throat before answering. "Uh, well, you know, once we found Don, we stopped actively searching the area. Nikki and Liz and two of the other agents that were with us are still up there, though, staking out the cabin. We never saw any sign of Shore, so chances are he was just searching around the woods like we were. And he might not even know we were there."

"And you figure he'll probably show up at the cabin again," Charlie deduced.

David nodded his affirmative. "Guy's got experience being in the wilderness, so he probably is too smart to have gotten lost out there. He's not going to search the woods forever. And once he's done he's not just going to leave. He's going to want to go back to the cabin and clean it down. And that's where his car is. He's going to have to go back there."

_And what if he doesn't?_ Alan was afraid to even ask. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what would happen. What if they never found this man? _What if he tries to come after Donnie again?_

David was still speaking. "And until then, just as a precaution, we'll have someone here all the time."

Well, that was better than nothing. But what if they just simply never found this monster? Alan knew he wouldn't be able to stop worrying until this asshole who'd tried to kill his son was locked up away deep in a jail cell. The knots in his stomach would remain in place until this man was apprehended.

"Are there people here for Don Eppes?" a voice called. Alan was on his feet before he could even think.

"Yes, that's us." The words fell from Alan's mouth in a rush as he quickly approached the doctor. "Please. How's he doing?"

The doctor smiled. "He's doing just fine. We ended up setting his wrist without surgery, and it's in a temporary splint now until the swelling goes down. A few days from now, we'll put it in a cast, which he'll have for about five or six weeks. We also removed the bullet from his shoulder. There was a little bit of damage to some of the muscle tissue, but it should heal up without a problem. He's in recovery right now, and once we have him in a room you'll be able to visit with him."

"Oh, thank God," Alan breathed. He heard other sighs of relief behind him.

"He's pretty lucky," the doctor concurred. "The bullet easily could have gone straight through, but since it ended up lodged inside, it actually helped to slow down the bleeding. He is, obviously, still suffering from _some_ blood loss, but this really could have been a whole lot worse. And it's a good thing he was found when he was, because the bleeding was slowly starting to become heavier. He probably couldn't have lasted too much longer out there untreated."

Alan turned around, unable to listen any longer. He didn't need to be reminded yet again by this doctor just how close he'd come to losing his son. He already knew that for himself.

Amita was pulling him back down to a chair, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Meanwhile, the doctor kept talking.

"But Don will be just fine. He's going to need a lot of rest, but I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to go home by Tuesday morning."

_Tuesday._

Tuesday morning, and Alan would finally take his son home. Tuesday couldn't come soon enough.

For now, though he'd settle just for seeing Don.

"Well, see?" Charlie said from across the aisle from Alan. "He's fine. He's going to be okay." His face, Alan noted, was adorned with a nervous smile, as if Charlie didn't quite believe what he was saying.

"Yes, he is, Charlie," Alan assured him. "He is."

Charlie looked for all the world like he couldn't quite comprehend what was happening. Alan sort of understood; they'd spent so long not knowing that it was difficult to accept that now they _did_ know. Even though it was good news, it was still a little hard to wrap his mind around it.

Alan regarded his youngest carefully for a moment. Charlie had sure grown up in recent years. Eight years ago, the boys' mother had been dying with cancer, and Charlie had shut out reality completely. Alan had let it go, because he'd been too distraught with his own grief to even bring himself to really care that much. That had all been left to Don.

Two years ago, when Don had been stabbed and Amita had been kidnapped shortly after, it had been a different story. Charlie had stayed mostly in touch with reality.

And he had here, too. Alan swelled with pride. Charlie had really come into his own the last few years—ever since he'd started working with Don at the FBI almost—whoa, was it really seven? Seven years ago. The time had really flown by.

Seven years had brought all these people into his life. And Alan was grateful for all of them. Even just in the context of today. He was grateful beyond words for David and Colby because they'd found his son, alone and bleeding in the woods, and had gotten him to safety. He was grateful for Amita, for sticking with Charlie and helping him figure out where Don was. And he was grateful for Robin, who'd been the one to finally win Don's heart and had shown him that he _could_ make a relationship work after all.

But boy, Alan was especially proud of Charlie today. Being the biased father that he was, Alan couldn't help but give Charlie most of the credit for finding Don. Charlie's math had kept Don alive today. And now, Alan had his two sons, safe and sound.

_Well, almost._

He sat back in his chair, waiting for the moment when he'd be told to go see Don, and then he really _would_ have both of his sons, safe and sound.

TBC

* * *

Well, we're on the wind down now, but stay with me - there are still a few more chapters to go!


	13. Chapter 13

Well, here's the next chapter. I believe it should answer certain questions raised in some of your reviews. :) Enjoy, and please review. There will be two more chapters to go after this one, so stick around!

Chapter 13

3:45 p.m.

Considering how it was October in the mountains and how they'd been in a torrential downpour this time yesterday, Liz was very surprised to feel the sun beating down on the back of her neck. She could almost feel the skin burning. She reached up, pulling her messy bun tighter on top of her head.

They were in kind of a messy situation at the moment. She, Nikki, Greg Posey, and a rookie agent of Posey's—Paul, or Pete, or something, Liz couldn't really remember—had been staking out all four corners of the cabin all afternoon. They'd been positioned in such a way that there was no way Shore could sneak past them unnoticed.

And yet, that's exactly what had happened. About twenty minutes ago, Ralph Shore had taken them all by surprise. He had somehow made them before he'd made an attempt to enter the cabin. Or at least, he'd made the rookie agent. In hindsight, Liz didn't really understand why David or Colby hadn't stayed behind instead of this newbie. That had been a mistake, but oh well. Nothing could be done about that now.

Liz, having been at the cabin's opposite corner, hadn't seen exactly what went down. She'd just heard what had been relayed via radio, but that hadn't been all that clear. All she knew was all she needed to know—which was that now somehow Shore had taken the rookie agent hostage and was now standing just inside the rear entrance of the cabin holding the agent at gunpoint. Liz and Posey were facing him a few feet away from the cabin, and Nikki stood at the front door on the other side of the cabin. They were trying very hard to talk Shore down without shooting him.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Shore was saying. "Do you think I'm honestly just going to let this guy go here just because you're asking me to? Believe me, I know what awaits me the second I give you guys control. You're going to take me to jail, and it'll be all over."

"Look, it doesn't have to be that bad," Liz pleaded. She considered her next statement carefully before saying it. "Okay? We found Agent Eppes a little while ago, and he's alive. You haven't killed anyone yet. Don't make it worse now."

"Oh, please!" Shore scoffed. "I kidnapped a federal agent, and I'm sure you'll get some prosecuting attorney out there to stick attempted murder on me as well. I'm assuming those are fairly serious charges. I think it's already _worse_, as you say."

Damn. This guy was obviously too smart to fall for her logically flawed arguments. She was obviously going to have to find a new way to convince this son-of-a-bitch to surrender.

"Well, maybe that's true," Liz agreed, "but this won't work either. You can't stand there with him forever. I've seen this so many times before, and it always ends the same way. You either land your ass in a jail cell, or you end up with a hole in your head."

"I don't plan to go to jail," Shore said, matter-of-factly. "Jail has never been part of my plan."

"Your plan?" Liz ventured. "You mean your revenge plan for Agent Eppes? What exactly was your plan, anyway?"

Shore fixed her with a hard look. "Look. Agent Eppes shot and killed my brother ten years ago. Then he the nerve to interrogate _me_, trying to dig up information on my brother. I don't know, maybe he was trying to justify what he did to my brother. Then, several weeks ago, he shows up at the hospital where I work, bringing another agent into the ER for treatment. I saw him, and I recognized him right away. I met his eyes once, and there was not one _hint_, not so much as a _tiny flicker_ of recognition there. He had no idea who I was."

Unfortunately, that happened a lot. FBI agents dealt with a lot of cases; there was no way they could remember every single family member of every single victim or suspect they ever came in contact with.

Also, Liz remembered the instance he was talking about. About six weeks ago, a raid had gone bad. They'd lost one agent, and a few others had been wounded. Don had taken another agent suffering a minor gunshot wound to the ER—the one at UCLA Medical Center where Shore was a security guard.

"So that's when you decided it was time to get even," Liz filled in.

"Yes, that's precisely it, Agent," Shore spat sardonically. "That's when I knew that Agent Eppes held absolutely no remorse for what he'd done."

Liz had to hold back a scoff. Don hated killing people, no matter how low-down and scum-of-the-earth they were. Don hated pulling the trigger almost more than any agent she knew. Don wasn't a very outwardly emotional guy, Liz knew _that_ from personal experience, but she also knew that he let things eat him up inside sometimes.

"There's always remorse," Liz said softly. "Every agent feels remorse, but we can't let it stop us from doing our job. But believe me, we don't like having to shoot people. Ever. I mean look at this, here. Why do you think you're still breathing? You're holding a gun on an agent. I'd be perfectly within the bounds of the law to shoot you right here, right now. But I would_ really_ rather not do that. And I won't, unless you force me to."

"Ha!" Shore smiled maliciously. "The reason you're not shooting me is because you know if you did, then your agent here would be dead."

Well, yes, that was true. Liz had to hand it to this guy, he was pretty smart. _Wonder why he's spent his life as a security guard? He probably could have done anything he wanted to._

"That's right," she admitted. "I'm just trying to keep everyone here alive. I don't want anyone to die here today."

"Well, Agent, uh . . ." Shore trailed off.

"Warner," Liz supplied. "Special Agent Liz Warner."

"Well, Agent Warner," Shore continued. "I'm not delusional; I realize there's no way in hell you would ever just let me walk away from this."

"Then be smart about this," Liz implored him. "You have a choice here. The only reason we're all here right now is because you feel your brother didn't deserve what happened to him. Do you really want the same thing to happen to you?"

Shore didn't respond. He simply looked at her, as if he expected her to say more.

So she did. "Look. You're not a criminal. You've never done anything like this before. You didn't pull this off like you expected to because you're inexperienced when it comes to committing felonies, and that's how we found you. But now you still have a chance to make one more choice here. And I know you're smart enough to make the right one. So please, just put the gun down."

Shore kept staring at her. "I do have a choice here, don't I?"

Liz could recognize the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes as well as she could recognize her own face in a mirror. She lifted her gun higher, as she saw Shore point his gun at the young agent's temple.

"I can't go to jail, Agent Warner," Shore announced. "You're right, I'm not a hardened criminal. You and I both know what prison would be like for a guy like me."

She saw his finger twitch, and heard the sound of a gun being fired. Shore and the agent both toppled to the ground. The agent scrambled out from underneath Shore's body, and across the floor, standing up once he reached the door.

Liz looked up to see Nikki, standing at the opposite door, her gun still raised to the spot Shore had previously stood. A thin, wispy tail of smoke snaked upwards from the gun's barrel.

Nikki caught Liz's eye, and the two locked gazes in silent understanding. Liz silently thanked Nikki for performing the deed, and she caught Nikki's silent message of _it had to be done._

It had to be done. And now they had a job to do, no matter how defeated Liz felt. But somehow, she felt her spirits lift ever so slightly as she realized that at least no agents had died here today—not this poor inexperienced rookie who'd just nearly had his head blown off, and most importantly, not Don.

* * *

4:55 p.m.

A thick fog swirled in his brain. It made it difficult for him to concentrate on any one thought. He kind of had an inkling of where he was. He'd been here before, in this fog. Maybe if he could remember more about the last time, then he could figure out what was happening now.

_Think, Don, think._ There'd been fog in his head. It had happened before. Why? What had happened after the fog?

After the fog. After the fog . . . what?

After the fog maybe there'd been sounds. No, he couldn't really remember. Had someone been there? Maybe.

No wait, someone had to have been there. He had this impression of a hand. His hand, another hand. Fingers. His fingers finding another hand, just barely brushing it. Where were the fingers now? No wait, not fingers. His fingers, someone else's _hand._ Where was the hand?

Whose hand? It had been rough and large. Probably not Robin's, then. Hers was soft, with long, bony fingers. Probably wasn't Charlie's, either. His hands were smaller and smooth and perpetually covered with chalk dust. Dad's? Okay, that made sense.

That made _a lot_ of sense, now that he thought about it.

"_Good book?"_

"_I've read better."_

Definitely Dad's. Maybe he should look for Dad's hand now. He tried to reach his right hand out to begin his search. It didn't move; it was being pinned to his chest somehow. Well, that's what he had a left hand for.

It seemed to work. He shifted his left hand over. _Interesting._ He noticed there was already a weight resting on it—a weight which squeezed it gently.

"Donnie?"

_Success._ That was definitely Dad's voice. Dad was really the only one who ever called him Donnie.

"Donnie? I know you're awake. Come on, son. Open your eyes, please."

It almost sounded like Dad was pleading with him. Begging him. He'd better open his eyes. Something was clearly wrong. When things were wrong, he often had to fix things. He'd better open his eyes and fix whatever was wrong. It took a few short moments and a lot of effort, but he managed to pull his eyes open.

The light made his head spin, but it also knocked a sense of focus into his head. He blinked a few times before he finally found his father's concerned face.

"There you are," his dad breathed. "It's good to see you awake. I thought we'd have to wait a little longer."

"Dad," Don forced out. He was really glad Dad was there. He remembered really missing his father recently. _Man, who the hell turned my brain into scrambled eggs?_

"It's all right, Donnie," Dad was saying. "You're going to be fine."

What was wrong with him? He narrowed his eyes, silently imploring his father to explain the situation further. And good ol' Dad took the hint, thankfully.

"You're going to be fine. You just got out of surgery, and you seem to have messed your arm up pretty good, but it'll heal. But what's important is that you're safe now, and you're going to be just fine. Thank God, you're going to be fine."

Dad was clearly distressed. Probably time to do some reassuring of his own.

"I know, Dad," he breathed. "'M fine."

His dad chuckled. "Of course, you _would_ say that. You look like you've swapped arms with a very fat mummy and you're barely awake from surgery, and you _would_ tell me you're fine."

Don sighed. He really did feel like he didn't quite understand anything. Hmm. Dad had said something about his arm being injured and looking like a fat mummy arm. He looked down, noticing first the tan splinting on his wrist and then the heavy white bandaging encircling most of his upper arm and that was also wrapped a couple times around the top of his chest. Probably if he was injured, then he was on some type of drug, which would probably account for his overly fuzzy state of mind.

He smiled sleepily. "Really, Dad," he insisted, "I don't feel a thing." Man, talking was difficult. His words were slurred and he sounded like a drunk person.

Chuckling once more, his dad laid a hand on top of his head. "I bet you don't, Donnie. Do you think you can stay awake for a few minutes? Your brother and Robin are out there because we were only allowed in here one at a time, and I'm sure they'd really like to see you. Let me go get them."

Dad's hand was gone, and so was the warmth that had come with it. Don watched him leave. He didn't quite understand what had happened, so seeing Charlie and Robin would be comforting, he figured.

Wait.

_Robin._

He remembered getting ready to marry Robin. Putting on his tuxedo, making sure his hair was in place, leaving his apartment . . . but why couldn't he remember the wedding? Wait . . . he hadn't made it, had he?

He'd gotten in his car . . . then what? He'd driven in the rain and he'd been scared. Someone else had been in the car, right?

Oh, man. _Damn._

Now he remembered. Shore. Shore had made him drive away from his wedding. Stuffed him in a trunk, driven him to the mountains. Kept him in a basement. He remembered fighting with him, and then being in the woods.

_Robin._

He'd missed their wedding. He'd ruined everything. _Please don't let her be too upset._ He was becoming anxious, waiting for her to walk in through that door. _Oh, Robin, I'm so sorry._

The door squeaked open, and Don watched it intensely. First his brother entered, looking frazzled and worn out. Behind him Robin came through the door, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She made her way over to him, grabbing onto his uninjured left hand. Don watched silently as she sat down in the chair previously occupied by his father and snaked her other hand out to stroke his hair.

"Oh, God," she breathed. "Don." Her eyes were filled with worry.

He squeezed her hand gently, and began stroking it with his thumb. "Robin." He paused, fixing her gaze with his own. He could feel the sting of wet tears in his eyes. He blamed it on the drugs. "I am _so_ _sorry_, Robin."

"Don—" she started, but he cut her off.

"No, Robin," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry about the wedding, and ruining it, and—"

This time, she cut him off. "No. Don, you have nothing to be sorry about. None of this is your fault, okay? And please, don't worry about the wedding. We can always plan a new one later. I'm just happy that you're okay." She gently stroked under his eye, wiping away the wetness he could feel there.

Don nodded, leaning slightly into the hand that had now moved more to the side of his head. He felt like there was more he should say on that issue, but his mind currently couldn't remember exactly what that was. All that mattered was that Robin wasn't upset with him.

He looked around the room, his eyes finding Charlie standing awkwardly in the corner, staring at his feet.

"Hey, Chuck," Don mumbled. Robin turned to the side, allowing Charlie to approach next to her. "Come here."

Charlie shuffled over to the bedside.

"It's a little fuzzy, but I can kind of remember David saying something about them finding me because of your math," Don told his brother. "Good job, buddy. Thank you." And boy, was he really grateful for Charlie. He swelled with pride for his little brother. It couldn't have been easy for him, but he'd managed to fight through it and because of it, Don was alive. The details _were_ fuzzy, but that much he knew for certain.

Charlie smiled shyly. "Let's just hope I never have to do it again. Oh, and don't call me Chuck, by the way."

Don shot his brother a loopy grin. Man, did this feel good. Being here, with his three favorite people. He allowed himself to drift off back to sleep, knowing he was safe and with his family.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

All right folks, we're getting down to it. One more after this. Please review!

Chapter 14

Monday, October 10, 2011  
10:15 a.m.

He had slept the sleep of a thousand sleeps last night, and boy, did he really need it. They'd gotten home really late after some nurse had finally kicked them out, insisting Don needed to be alone in order to rest. Charlie didn't really understand that one, because Don had been asleep most of the evening with multiple people in the room with him.

But it was probably just as well. Charlie had fallen asleep in the car on the way home, and Amita practically had to shove him into the house and up the stairs to their bedroom. At some point, Charlie had realized that the last time he'd slept had been forty-eight hours before. The last time he'd slept, he had still been anticipating a wedding the next day. Felt like a million years ago.

Now, he found himself at Don's bedside, waiting with his older brother for David and Liz to show up and fill them in on the details of Ralph Shore's fate. Charlie wasn't entirely sure yet what had transpired, but he knew the bastard had ended up dead. Don didn't even know that much—he'd been asleep most of the time he'd been in the hospital, so no one had really gotten a chance to tell him.

It was so nice to just be sitting here with Don, watching him breathe in and out; Charlie felt very reassured just to know his brother was alive. And Charlie secretly held a modicum of satisfaction, knowing that his math had helped bring Don back to them. He smiled a little to himself. Actually, he realized, he wouldn't have been able to do it without Don. So what if Charlie had been drawing on advice Don had given him on a previous occasion? So what if it was only _memories_ of Don comforting him during Amita's kidnapping that he'd listened to? It was a little ironic, or something. Don was the one who'd been missing, and he'd _still_ been the one to keep Charlie's head on straight.

Their dad had been the only one allowed to stay with Don overnight. Now, Charlie and Amita had insisted he go home and sleep for awhile, so Amita had driven him home. Robin was with her parents, figuring she'd better spend at least _some_ time with them before they went back. So that left Charlie and Don alone in the room. Don was currently dozing, and Charlie had been flipping unsuccessfully through the TV channels, half-heartedly attempting to find something halfway interesting.

Even Don was starting to notice.

"God, Charlie," he mumbled from the bed. "Can't you just put the TV on a damn channel and leave it there?"

Charlie glared at his brother. "Well, look who just woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"There's only one side of the bed here to wake up on," Don said. "I miss my larger bed."

"You're already grouchy," Charlie said with a smirk. "You must be feeling better."

"What?" Don protested with a small, joking smile. "Of course I'm grouchy. I'm stuck here in a hospital bed with you instead of that nice room with a king-sized bed up the coast with Robin that I'm _supposed_ to be in today."

Don kept his tone light, but Charlie could detect the disappointment and guilt there. Charlie knew his brother was still feeling like he'd let Robin down, despite assurances to the contrary. It was silly, really. It wasn't Don's fault he'd been kidnapped just before his own wedding. But Don, of course, always seemed to take responsibility for stuff that wasn't his responsibility. And Charlie knew that Don felt bad because what happened had caused everyone a lot of trouble and grief and unnecessary expenses—for all those out-of-town wedding guests who had come out there and then there'd been no wedding, anyways.

"Hey," Don said, snapping Charlie out of his thoughts. "I'm tired of sleeping. Help a guy sit up, will you?"

"Sure," Charlie responded. He found the button on the right side of Don's bed that would elevate it enough for him to sit up a little. Don reached around with his uninjured hand to try and settle his pillow better behind him. He was fumbling awkwardly, so Charlie grabbed the other side to help.

Don leaned back, wincing as the movement ever so slightly aggravated his injured shoulder.

"You good?" Charlie wanted to make sure.

"Yeah, Chuck, I'm fine," Don breathed. "Thanks."

"Hey, we're not interrupting, are we?" came David's voice from the doorway.

"Hey," Don greeted David and Liz with a smile. "Come on in."

"Hey, man," David smiled back. "You certainly look a lot better than you did last time I saw you."

"That's good," Don chuckled. "I'm glad I don't look _worse_."

David laughed in response before growing serious. "Well, anyway, we really just wanted to stop by and let you know what happened with Shore yesterday."

Don seemed to perk up at this announcement. "Did you find him?"

David looked at Charlie, clearly assuming the mathematician would have told his brother what he knew about yesterday's events. Charlie looked down towards the floor before cautioning a quick glance up to his older brother. Don was looking at him, eyes widened in confusion.

Charlie winced. "Sorry. I didn't tell him anything. He's just been asleep most of the time, and whenever he's been awake, it's just never come up."

"That's okay," David assured him.

"Yeah, we found him," Liz clarified at long last. "Sometime yesterday afternoon, he came back to the cabin, just like we figured. He got the drop on a rookie agent we had up there with us from Greg Posey's team. Long story short, after a bit of standoff with him just getting more and more agitated, Nikki shot him down before he could stick a bullet in the new guy."

"He's dead," said Don, searching for clarification.

David and Liz both nodded, and Don sighed. All of them looked forlorn, which Charlie understood. A loss of life was never something to be celebrated, no matter how much evil the person had brought about. And Charlie, as a consultant with his brother's team for many years, knew it was always difficult for any of them to take a life.

It was one thing Charlie had always admired about his brother and all the people he worked with. Despite all the horrors they'd dealt with in this world, they'd all managed to maintain enough of a sense of humanity to be bothered by killing even the most awful, terrible, scum-of-the-earth sons-of-bitches the world had to offer. Charlie, of course, had not exactly been gleeful and joyful to hear of Ralph Shore's death, but there had been a small sense of, well, slight satisfaction—just knowing that Don could no longer be in danger of Shore's desire for revenge made Charlie feel relieved.

"So Don," Liz continued on. "You remember that meth lab raid we had a few weeks ago? Where you ended up having to take Agent Winters to the ER to get a graze to his elbow stitched up?"

Don's eyes narrowed. He looked as confused as Charlie felt. _What did this have to do with anything?_

"Yeah," Don said slowly. "Why?"

"You took him to UCLA Medical Center," David filled in. "Ralph Shore works as a security guard there."

"No kidding," Don's eyes were wide. "So he must have seen me that day, and that must have been when he decided to do all this. Man . . . he must have spent nearly every waking moment since then planning this. He said he rented that cabin from a high school friend of his, and I mean, he knew where I lived and almost everything about me. Hell, he even knew I was supposed to be getting married that day."

Charlie's stomach flipped over, thinking about the implications brought about by Don's revelation. Shore had known about all of them, and could have gotten to _any_ of them.

"He had to have been following you," Liz said softly. "Ralph Shore was clearly a pretty smart guy. He had this planned out in detail. But he'd basically never committed a crime in his life, and I guess because of the lack of experience, he made some pretty big mistakes."

"Yeah, he must have just snapped," David supplied. "Years of grieving for his brother must have just built up inside him, and when he saw Don, he just blew like a fuse and decided to aim his rage at the one he deemed responsible for his brother's death."

Charlie could understand that. In the early hours of the morning yesterday, when it had finally clicked in his head that his older brother was likely dead, he had felt a little like exacting revenge of his own. If he'd ever been let loose in front of Ralph Shore, he'd better watch out. But the point was moot now, with Shore dead anyway.

Shore was dead, and Don was very much alive. He looked exhausted, Charlie thought, but he was alive. And that was really all that mattered.

* * *

Wednesday, October 12, 2011  
11:30 a.m.

At least Don had one good arm, Robin thought. At least she could curl up on the couch underneath his left arm, resting her head on his shoulder. She was amused to see that he was asleep, head leaned back against the couch, mouth slightly open. He wasn't exactly snoring, but his breath wasn't exactly silent, either. His left arm was around her; he was unconsciously holding her close, which she liked. She sat, legs extended to the coffee table in front of them, her head resting on his shoulder. His dark hair was all mussed up, sticking out in every direction.

Her eyes trailed over to Don's right side. There was a slight bulge in his T-shirt from the heavy bandaging around his shoulder. His lower arm rested in a sling, his fingers barely sticking out from the splint around his hand and wrist. Up on his face, Don's lip had been split but was healing and there was some very slight bruising around his mouth. He was a little worse for wear, but at least he was here.

He looked so peaceful right now, sleeping on the couch in his childhood home. He'd been released the morning before, and had hardly moved from the couch ever since. And Robin, after being repeatedly assured by both Alan and Charlie that she too was welcome around the house whenever she wanted to be there, had spent the majority of her time right here next to him. She didn't want to be anywhere else. She felt a little bad, because her family was still in town and she'd essentially abandoned them, but her need to be near Don had won out over her guilt of ditching her family.

The movie Don had fallen asleep to had ended, and Robin wanted to change the channel. The remote rested on the coffee table next to her foot. She figured she could probably reach it without disturbing Don if she managed to hold his left arm still.

She lifted her head off of his shoulder, immediately wincing and letting out a soft grunt as she felt a tug on the back of her head. She reached back, pulling her hair out of whatever trap it had fallen into. Don stirred next to her. She waited, watching as his eyes slowly pulled open and rested on her.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I think my hair got caught in your sling strap. It's okay. Go back to sleep."

His mouth slid into a sleepy grin—the type of heart-melting grin that she couldn't help but smile back at.

"It's all part of my evil plan," he mumbled. "I'm trying to trap you here and keep you from leaving."

"Well, that's nice," Robin shot back. "Except I wasn't leaving. I just wanted the TV remote." She then leaned forward to finish what she'd started. Remote in hand, she leaned back to settle into Don's shoulder once more.

"That's good," Don breathed into her ear as he leaned his head against hers. "I don't like to use force unless I have to."

They fell silent for a few moments. Robin absently flipped through the channels, relishing in the feeling of Don's breathing against her head.

"So," he eventually said. "When do you want to start re-planning our wedding?"

Robin laughed. "Don, you've barely been out of the hospital twenty-four hours. I think we've got time to think about this later, don't you?"

Don pulled his head away, waiting until she looked at him before shaking his head.

"No." There was something in his eyes, Robin noted. Sadness, or maybe guilt, with a little regret mixed in. She wasn't sure. "We don't know what could happen later. I know what's happening now, though. Right now, everything is good. So I think it's a perfect time to be thinking about this."

His expression was pleading with her to humor him. She grabbed his left hand and began playing absently with his fingers. She rubbed over each one, taking stock of every detail of his long, smooth fingers. When she reached his ring finger, she stopped. There should have been a ring there. Just like there should be another matching ring on her own finger, to accompany the diamond one that was already there.

"Yeah," Robin eventually said. "You're right. I just thought it might be easier later. You know, once it's clearer how long it'll take for your arm to recover."

Don smiled a little. "Ha. If we're waiting for my arm to heal to get married, we could be waiting awhile."

Anyone else might have missed the subtle tint of frustration in Don's tone, but Robin knew him well enough to detect it. She could understand. The doctor had sent him home yesterday with instructions to come back in a week to have his wrist casted because the swelling hadn't gone down all the way yet. Then he'd have to be in the cast for about six weeks after that. With his shoulder damaged the way it was, he had to keep it as immobile as possible by wearing the sling for a couple weeks. He'd be in therapy for awhile, trying to exercise his damaged muscles back up to fighting form. It definitely would be at least a couple of months before his arm was fully recovered.

But she was surprised. For some reason, it never occurred to her that Don would be in a big rush to reschedule the wedding.

"Oh," she responded simply. "I guess I just assumed you'd want to wait. I didn't think you'd want to have a wedding before your arm could function again."

Don shook his head slowly. "Nah. I don't really care about that. I just feel like I've been trying to marry you for so long, I just want it to happen already. I really didn't think you'd be this tough to nail down, Brooks."

He was frowning, but the twinkle in his eyes totally undermined any seriousness he was trying to muster. Robin laughed.

"Hey, Eppes, you just give it your best shot." She grinned, her heart flipping when he returned the smile. "Seriously, though. We don't have to rush this."

"Yeah, we do," Don insisted. "I mean, we've been engaged for over a year and a half. Why did we even have such a long engagement? I'll tell you. It's because even after all this time, the thought of actually getting married scares me a little."

"Me too," she admitted softly. "It scares us both, and I think I've known that all along. And it's why when you didn't show up to the wedding—I'm so ashamed to even admit this, but my first thought was that you had run. And I'm so sorry. I can't believe I ever even thought you would do that."

She had to admit, it felt good to get that off her chest. The guilt that had secretly plagued her ever since they'd found out what had _really_ happened to Don that day was already starting to wane.

"Aw, hey," Don soothed quietly. She felt his nose brush over the top of her head. "Don't feel bad about that. I mean, what were you supposed to think?"

A lump rose in her throat. _Damn him for being so understanding._ She couldn't say anything, so she just nodded.

"Anyway," Don continued, "the point is, I just feel like we waited too long. And maybe that was my fault, I don't know. And then you know, then we almost didn't even get the chance. I can't exactly explain why I feel like we need to hurry, but I just really want to marry you, already."

She looked up at him to find his dark eyes watching her expectantly, waiting for her answer.

"Oh, Don," Robin sighed. "This really isn't your fault, okay? You didn't know this was going to happen. You've got nothing to feel bad about here. But yeah, we'll get married as soon as possible."

"How about Saturday?" The words came out of Don's mouth in a rush.

"Saturday?" Robin repeated in disbelief. "That might be a little _too_ soon, Don. Are you sure you'd be up for that?"

Don raised his eyebrows, almost as if he couldn't believe what _she_ was saying. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Of course I would. Unless you're not. Unless maybe you don't want this big ugly sling in all your wedding pictures." A hint of a smile was forming on his face; he was challenging her.

"I don't care." Robin smiled back. "I don't care what our wedding pictures look like, as long as you and I are both in them. Okay. We'll get married Saturday, but only on one condition."

"What's that?" Don looked hesitant.

"You, Eppes, have to leave everything to me. All the planning, everything. You have to spend the next three days doing nothing but resting. I don't want you passing out in exhaustion during the ceremony, okay?"

Don grinned. "I could see how that might be a little embarrassing. All right, Brooks. You drive a hard bargain, but you got yourself a deal."

"First thing I need to do is call my parents," Robin thought aloud. "My family's supposed to fly out tomorrow. I should probably tell them they need to stick around for a couple more days."

"That might be a good idea," Don agreed with a laugh. "You should call David next. He's still here, because apparently when you take command of an FBI investigation in the place where you're supposed to be vacationing, you end up with a lot of paperwork to complete. You should convince him to stick around too."

"Good idea," Robin agreed. "And, oh . . . hmm. Maybe you should just wear a suit and tie this time. I don't think the tuxedo people would be thrilled to rent you a new tux. Not after what you did to their last one."

"Hey, it wasn't _completely_ destroyed," Don protested. "Yeah, okay, the pants were pretty muddy and the shirt had been completely obliterated by mud stains, blood stains, and holes before the nice people at the hospital took a pair of scissors to it to get it off me, but the jacket, tie, and all other parts were found clean in the backseat of the kidnapper's car. Maybe a little wrinkled, but they were fine."

Robin laughed. She wished she could make this moment last forever. She finally had Don on the couch, holding her, laughing and joking with her. And they were getting married Saturday, barring any more ridiculous unforeseen complications.

Her wedding dress may not have been the most comfortable article of clothing on the planet, but she couldn't wait to put it on again.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

All right, time to put this thing to bed! Final chapter.

I so very much appreciate all of you who read this. I also appreciate those of you who reviewed-I may not always reply to them, but do know that I read each and every one and they all mean a lot! But even those of you who read and didn't review, I appreciate you sticking with me through this. This one's probably the longest story I've ever written, and with so many failed attempts, it took the longest amount of time by far. So now some journey has come to an end, and all that cliche jazz. Anyways, here is the final chapter, and I hope you like the end!

Chapter 15

Saturday, October 15, 2011  
1:38 p.m.

Knocking softly on the door, Alan attempted to hear what was happening on the other side. There had been a rustling sound, but it stopped.

"Who is it?" came Don's voice.

"It's just me," Alan answered, and he was rewarded by footsteps, followed by the door slowly swinging open a moment later.

"Hey, Dad," Don greeted. Alan had to hold back a laugh at the current state of his oldest son's appearance. His wet hair was completely disheveled, tufts of it sticking out in all directions. He was currently shirtless, wrist splint and the stitches closing his shoulder wound all visible. His pants were on, but unbuckled, unbelted, and unzipped. And he looked really tired, Alan thought. Don sort of looked like a walking disaster.

Alan smiled. "Hey, Don. I just came by to give you this shirt." He held up the white dress shirt that was currently hanging from the hangar in his hand. "But you look like you could use a hand."

Don sighed. "Yeah, I guess. Come in." He stepped away from the door, and Alan entered Don's childhood bedroom.

"I mean, I don't really need much help," Don was saying. "But you know, if you could just help with the shirt and the tie, I can handle the rest."

"Mmhmm." Some things never changed. Don would still never ask for help if he could at all avoid it. "Well, then, go ahead and finish putting on your pants, then."

Don smiled a small smile and proceeded to zip and awkwardly button his dress pants with one hand. Alan handed him the belt that had been laying on the bed. _I'll be impressed if he can get that all the way on with one hand,_ Alan thought.

He was impressed; Don fumbled with the belt a little as he pulled it around his waist, and a lot when he attempted to close the buckle, but he ended up finishing the task in only slightly above average time.

Alan turned to take the dress shirt off the hangar. "Okay. There are some rules that come with this shirt, this time. First off, no getting shot while wearing it. Second, no rolling around in the mud, either. I want it relatively clean when it comes back."

Don grinned. "Is that the same shirt I wore to Charlie's wedding? Because I also got tackled by a huge guy and lost my gun while wearing that shirt."

"No," Alan told him. "You complained about that one being too big, so I'm giving you a different one this time. This one's a little small for me, so it'll probably be just right for you."

"Good," Don said. "That shirt seemed unlucky, too. The last thing this wedding needs is any more bad luck."

"Oh, Donnie," said Alan with a sigh. "You'll be fine. This wedding's going to be fine. Pretty much everyone's already here at the house—well, all the important people, anyway, so we don't have to worry about anyone being kidnapped on the way over."

Don smiled, but the look in his eyes seemed far away. "Yeah. That's always a good thing."

"Everything okay, Donnie?" Alan asked as he began gingerly pulling the shirt sleeve over Don's injured arm.

Don sighed, wincing a little as the movement of the shirt jarred his injured shoulder. "Yeah. I don't know. I'm starting to think maybe this wasn't such a great idea."

"What wasn't?" Alan wondered. He held the shirt out so Don could put his left arm through the other sleeve.

"Getting married today," Don responded quietly as he carefully shrugged his left shoulder farther into the sleeve. "Maybe we should have waited. Maybe I shouldn't have insisted that we do this today."

"Well, Donnie, if you both wanted to do this, then I don't see why it would be such a bad idea." Alan let go of the shirt, watching as Don turned around and attempted to button the shirt with one hand. Seeing that the process was slow yet still successful, Alan turned to pick the black necktie up off the bed. He put it around his own neck and started to tie it. "Unless you're thinking you're not really up for this. I mean, you've been resting on the couch for days, but I don't think you're quite a hundred percent yet, maybe—"

Don cut him off. "No, no, no. That's not it. I feel fine. But I mean, maybe we should have waited until I healed up more, or something. You know, at least until I don't look like I just went a few rounds with a professional wrestler. Maybe trying to do this so soon was a dumb idea. But I'm just so tired of waiting."

Alan pulled the tie over his head, making sure not to mess up the knot. "I know you are, son," he said as he slipped the tie over Don's neck. "But if you wanted to do this today, and Robin wants to do this today, then I don't see what the problem is."

Don simply stared at Alan as he fixed his son's shirt collar, tightening the tie in place.

"Yeah, I think we both wanted to do it today," Don finally said. "I mean, I'm pretty sure Robin's okay with this, but what if she would really rather have a nicer wedding like we'd planned? What if she just went along with this just to make things easier?"

Alan couldn't help but chuckle. "Don, you know Robin better than I do. But even I know that she probably would have told you if she wanted this to happen differently. You did not pick a woman who is afraid to speak up when she'd rather do something differently."

Don smiled wide at that comment. "That's true."

"But really, Don, you look beat already," Alan pointed out. It was true. There were bags under Don's eyes, and his demeanor didn't seem as spirited as it should for one who was about to get married. "And the wedding hasn't even started. Are you sure you're going to be okay for this?"

"Yeah, Dad, really, I'm fine," his son insisted in typical Don-fashion. "I just haven't really moved for like a week, you know? I just need to get used to being up and around again. I'm fine."

"If you're sure," Alan said, fixing his son with a hard stare. Maybe Don was right, maybe they really should have waited until later. "Because I know you don't like to admit these things, but if you don't think you're up for it, you've got to say something."

Don set his left hand on Alan's shoulder. "Dad, I'm fine. I swear. That's not what the problem is."

"Then what _is_ the problem?" Alan asked, puzzled.

Don sighed, clearly considering carefully his next words. Finally, he spoke, pulling his hand off Alan's shoulder. "I don't know. It just—it kind occurred to me that . . . well, I really don't want any of the memories that we have in the future of this day to have anything to do with what happened last weekend. And I don't know—I'm kind of, you know, a walking billboard of evidence for what happened. And it's all still fresh in our minds. I don't know, I'm just starting to think maybe we should have waited until things died down a little bit."

"Maybe," Alan conceded. "But I don't know about you, but earlier I was thinking about how nice this was to be doing this today. I like having this reassurance that everyone is here. I like knowing that my whole family is here, alive and healthy." _Well, mostly_. Alan couldn't help feeling a pain of deep sadness, as he had last weekend and back when Charlie had gotten married, that his late wife wasn't around to see her two boys marrying such wonderful women. Margaret would have been so incredibly proud of them, that Alan knew for sure.

He shoved his grief aside; it wasn't relevant to this particular discussion.

"What I'm trying to say," Alan continued, "is that I'm looking at today as more than just your wedding day, Donnie. It's a day of celebrating the fact that everything is as it should be. Everyone who is supposed to be here is here. Well, except for maybe—" okay, he couldn't help it, he had to say it—"your mother."

"I do wish she could have been here," Don said sadly, looking to the floor.

"She'd be very proud of you, Don," Alan assured him. "But the point is, other than her, our whole family is here today. And that's including those who aren't related to us by blood. I'm talking about everyone we care about. We need to celebrate us all being here. I mean, last week we just came so close to losing you."

Don's eyebrows furrowed; clearly he was trying to hold in some pretty strong emotions.

"I know," he whispered, and Alan's heart broke at the regret that laced his son's quiet voice. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Alan figured Don would protest, but he didn't care. He threw an arm around Don's shoulders, careful not to disturb his injured one.

Pulling his son into a semi-awkward one-armed hug, Alan whispered back. "We're going to tell you as many times as you need to hear it, Donnie, but you haven't done anything wrong here. You don't have anything to be sorry about." He waited until Don nodded before he continued. "The point is, we almost lost you, but we didn't. You're here today, and you're getting married. Any memories that _I_ have of this day in the future are going to be all about how especially appreciative I was to have all the people I cared about in one place, especially my two sons—one of whom is married to a wonderful woman and the other of whom is _getting_ married to another wonderful woman."

Don pulled back and smiled. "Yeah. That's true. That's the important part, right?"

"That it is," Alan agreed. He picked Don's discarded sling up from the edge of the bed. "Let me help you get this on, all right?"

Don gave him a strange look. "Aw, come on Dad. I really don't think I need to wear that thing. I promise I'll make sure to hold my arm still and not move it at all."

_There's the Don we all know and love._ "You need to wear it, Donnie. It'll be really difficult to keep your arm perfectly still without it. I know you hate it, but you have to wear it."

Don grinned, and Alan could feel himself smiling, too. He gingerly eased his son's injured arm into the blue fabric of the sling and carefully brought the strap around Don's head.

"Yes, Dad," Don mumbled, but Alan could hear the amusement in his voice. "Well, I guess I should just be glad that the hand the wedding ring goes on isn't the one that's injured, right?"

"Right, there you go," Alan murmured, fixing the sling strap so that it wasn't twisted. Once done, he set a hand on Don's good shoulder, fixing the younger man with a quick, reassuring gaze. Don smiled, picking the black blazer up off the bed. He slipped his good arm through the sleeve, and Alan helped him settle the other side of it on top of his injured shoulder.

"Well, we should probably head downstairs," Alan said with a smile. "You don't want to be late to your own wedding."

"Oh, ha ha," Don was grinning. Alan turned toward the door, starting to head out. He expected Don to be following him and was surprised to hear his son's voice come from far behind.

"Dad," Don was saying, and Alan turned around to see his son, staring red-faced towards the floor. "Um, I, uh . . . I haven't quite mastered the fine art of tying a shoe with one hand. Do you think you could . . ."

"Oh! Sure, Donnie." Alan couldn't help but laugh. _  
_

_Yep, some things never change._

* * *

3:00 p.m.

Dad had been right. Any memories Don would later have of this occasion would be centered around feelings of joy, gratefulness, and relief.

He sat now in a daze, on a bench at the side of the house, out of sight of the rest of the wedding area, almost disbelieving that the events of the last couple of hours had _actually_ occurred. _Finally._ Of course, some of that daze was most definitely at least partly due to the pain killers he'd taken earlier, and quite possibly the fatigue that had crept up on him in the last few minutes.

Thankfully, he'd managed to stay quite alert during the ceremony and all the moments leading up to it. Possibly it was due to some form of adrenaline or something that had given him some blessed burst of energy for all the important parts of the day.

Robin came and sat down beside him. He immediately reached for her left hand, smiling as he fingered the wedding ring that was at last resting there.

She looked amazing. The one moment during the ceremony where he'd nearly lost his focus and zoned out completely was at the very beginning—when Robin had come down the aisle, her gazed fixed upon his. It was so cliché, but she had seriously looked like some sort of supernatural goddess or something. She'd practically been glowing in her white dress, her hair curled elegantly around her face, her eyes twinkling from across the backyard as she locked gazes with him. Watching her, he'd nearly forgotten in that moment why they were there and what they were doing. _If anyone noticed that, blame it on the drugs._ He was sure Charlie had noticed; as his best man, his younger brother had been standing right there next to him.

"You okay?" Robin finally asked. She still looked just as amazingly beautiful as she had before. She reached a hand up and briefly touched his cheek before bringing it back down to cover his own hand. "You look a little out of it. Does your arm hurt? I could bring you something for it."

Don chuckled. "No, I took something right before the wedding. I think that's the problem."

"What, that you're drugged?" Robin asked and Don nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Great. It's always been part of all my wedding day fantasies that my husband would be high on pain meds during our ceremony."

Don laughed and threw up his good hand in mock offense. "Hey. I was _not_ high during our ceremony. Drugs are just now kicking in."

Robin laughed back. "Whatever, Eppes. I saw that glazed look in your eye when I was coming down that aisle."

"That had nothing to do with the drugs," Don protested. "That was because of you."

Robin didn't say anything, instead just looking at him questioningly, not breaking his gaze until he spoke again.

Don fumbled getting the words out. "I mean, you just . . . you just looked so, you know, amazing and beautiful, walking down the aisle, I don't know. I just—"

"Uh huh," Robin cut him off, her eyes sparkling in amusement. "Nice try."

Don laughed incredulously. "I'm serious! You look so incredible, I just couldn't help but just stare at you the whole time."

_Geez, Eppes. If you're going to go all cornball, maybe you should just quit and go to bed now. Maybe you can get Robin to come with you . . . _

Robin was laughing, probably _at_ him and not _with _him, and he rubbed his forehead with his good hand. Man, he was getting really tired. _Come on, Eppes. It's your wedding day. Wake up._

"Yo," a voice called, "Mr. and Mrs. Eppes!" It was David, Don realized. He looked up to see David peeking around from the back of the house. "Everyone's looking for you two."

Robin rose to her feet, slapping Don's knee affectionately. "Yeah, we should probably cut the cake now before Don passes out."

"I'm not going to pass out!" Don protested. "I'm fine." He rose slowly, and much to his dismay, a little unsteadily. Robin chuckled and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"If you say so, Eppes," Robin whispered in his ear.

"I do say so, Brooks," Don breathed back. "Oh, wait, no, you're actually an Eppes now. So, yeah, I do say so, Eppes. Mrs. Eppes. Whatever."

Robin laughed out loud now. "I so very much believe you."

They walked out past David and around the corner. Don gave his former second-in-command a pat on the shoulder with his good arm. _Thank God for David._ One good thing about being kidnapped on his wedding day, Don figured, was that it meant that David had been there to take charge. Not that he didn't trust Colby, Liz, and Nikki to have found him in time, but he'd known David for longer than any of them. It was a small comfort to know that David had been the one out there leading the search.

It was good to have him here. Don made a mental note to try and figure out some way to get David back in LA. He knew the younger agent didn't particularly love DC, and secretly longed to return to LA.

Aw, hell. He was pretty damn proud of all the people on his old team, he realized, seeing them standing around laughing and drinking champagne. _Speaking of which, how fair is that? Champagne at a wedding and the groom can't even drink any._ Damn drugs.

_Stop drifting,_ he told himself. The point was, he was grateful not just to David, but to Colby, Liz, and Nikki for all rallying together and working pretty quickly to find him.

And on that note, where was Charlie? Charlie had done amazingly well under pressure this time, something the genius was not usually known for. But from what Don had heard, Charlie had only spent a small amount of time lost inside his head before he'd shoved it all aside and whipped out some pretty fast math. Don knew perfectly well how crucial Charlie's part had been. His team could've eventually found out where Shore had taken him, but without Charlie's math to majorly speed things up, Don knew he'd have been toast.

There was Charlie. He was standing over near the corner of the house, talking with Robin's sister, his arm slung around Amita's shoulder. Having Amita and Larry had probably helped Charlie a lot, too.

Don smiled. He was quickly realizing how many people he was indebted to. He'd have to take them all out for a nice dinner or something, later. _Right, because a fancy dinner is perfectly adequate payback for working hard to save someone's life._

"There you are, Donnie, Robin." Dad suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "You all right, Don? You look exhausted."

Don grinned. "Never better, Dad." He felt Robin's arm tighten around his waist.

"Good," Dad said. "Let me go find that knife so you two can cut the cake." And just as soon as he appeared, Dad was gone.

"You sure you're okay?" Robin whispered to him again.

"All right, you win," Don conceded. "I guess I'm a little fuzzy. I'm sorry I'm on drugs for our wedding day. Maybe we should have waited a couple more weeks to do this, or something."

Robin shook her head. "No. It's not important. What's important is that we're married, right?"

Don grinned as wide as possible. "That's right. We're married." He still couldn't wrap his fuzzy brain around that one.

He stumbled to one side a little. Charlie materialized on his left, placing a hand on his arm.

Charlie was chuckling a little in his ear. "Man, you look exhausted. I can see it in your eyes."

Don turned to smile at Charlie, patting his younger brother on the back with his left hand. "I know, Charlie. But it's all right, I'm fine." Which it was, as far as Don could figure. So what if he was drugged up to his ears on painkillers on his own wedding day? It didn't matter.

At least they were all here, he thought for the zillionth time. It had taken him and Robin one go-around and a breakup, a year apart, another two years of dating, one failed marriage proposal, one successful one, followed by a year and a half and then a failed ceremony to get them here to this point. It had all been so ridiculously complicated.

"_Complicated works for us."_

Robin had been right. They certainly did complicated well, and that was okay.

He looked around over the large wedding cake on the patio table. Everyone he cared about was right here. His old team—David, Colby, Nikki, and Liz; Amita, Larry, Robin's family, his dad. His brother to his left. And Robin, his wife, to his right. All of these people were his family, and they were all here. And he was here too, which was also good.

Dad had been right. He'd remember this as a celebration of family, and not as a reminder of Ralph Shore and what he'd almost done to him.

He would remember this day as being filled with gratefulness for all these people he had who were willing to do anything to make sure he was here today, safe and sound. And most importantly, he'd remember it as the day he'd finally managed to marry Robin Brooks.

Don awkwardly reached over with his left hand, covering Robin's right hand, which held the knife, with it. Together, they slid the knife down through the cake.

And of course, a little cake to celebrate family and marriage was always a good thing.

END.

* * *

Thank you all so much for reading! Hope this chapter wasn't too mushy, but hey, I like to explore the softer side of the Eppes men. :) Oh, and as a special note to Rinne, I hope you appreciate the shirtless Don at the beginning of this chapter. ;)

Thanks again for reading, and please click that review button! Till next time!


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